


All the Way Home

by peggy_lane



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Community: spn_j2_bigbang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peggy_lane/pseuds/peggy_lane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his life went to hell, Jensen left Dallas and moved to the small family ranch to start over. It's a lonely, solitary existence until he hires Jared to help out around the place. Jared's a temptation that's hard to resist and Jensen finds himself beginning to live again. But ranching isn't his calling, and Jared's running from some demons of his own; he's not the type to stick around. They're temporary, and Jensen thinks he's fine with that, but letting go has never been so hard to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Way Home

**  
_one_   
**

Back when he lived in Dallas, Jensen was never short of company. Nobody would accuse him of being a social butterfly but friends came pretty easily and it never took much effort to get laid. So he's surprised when he realizes that he hasn't talked to another living soul, not of the two-legged variety anyway, in four days.

It'd be pretty easy to get depressed about that, but Jensen decides instead to call his mom, then his sister, just to hear some live human voices coming down the line. When Mac asks what's up, he tells her he's going into Dumas to meet some buddies for a drink. After they hang up, he thinks about it for a minute and decides to make truth of the lie, half a truth anyway. He'll drive into town, he’ll sit at the bar, but he doesn't have any buddies there to meet. Still, maybe he can find somebody to shoot the shit with for a while. They can talk about the weather, which may be cliché no matter where you live but is of genuine interest to the farmers and ranchers who make up their small community.

He ends up at _The Keyhole_ a couple of hours later. It's Wednesday, so business is slow, but Chris Kane walks in and Jensen knows him well enough to wave him over. They were practically inseparable during the summer months when they were kids, back when Jensen spent school holidays with his grandparents. They hadn’t seen each other for years when Chris showed up after Grandpa Miller's funeral four years past, only six months after Grandma Miller had been laid to rest, and pulled Jensen out back for a joint when things got heavy.

It had come as something of a shock when Jensen’s grandparents willed the ranch to him. Not that anybody in the family seemed to mind, and why would they? It was an added responsibility Jensen himself didn’t much appreciate at the time. He hadn’t wanted to sell but he sure as hell had no intention of leaving Dallas to stick around, either. So it had been a relief when Jim Beaver offered to lease the land and work it, as well as the cattle, alongside his adjacent farm.

He and Chris have had occasion to talk in the year since Jensen surprised everybody, including himself, with his decision to break that lease and return to run the ranch on his own. Chris even sent some of his crew over to give a hand during harvest season.

Jensen orders another drink and Chris nods his thanks as he slides onto the stool next to him. Chris takes a long, slow pull off his beer, clearly enjoying the experience, and Jensen watches in a way he shouldn’t. Hell, Chris is as straight as they come, and Bumfuck, Texas isn’t the place to be ogling men. Not in this bar anyway. Chris isn’t even his type. The fact that Jensen’s looking at all is an uncomfortable reminder that it’s been over a year since his dick’s made the acquaintance of anything other than his own right hand.

He orders another beer for himself and lights a cigarette. _Sports Center_ is on over the bar and they watch the closed captioning for a while. Chris waits for a commercial before he speaks.

"You set for winter?"

Jensen smiles. "Gosh, Chris. That question wasn't at all predictable."

"Fuck you," Chris says mildly. "I'm not some gentleman farmer here on a whim like some pretty boys I could name. This shit matters to me." He finishes off his beer and thumps his chest. "Deep inside."

Jensen chuckles and lights another cigarette.

"I don't know," he says. "I sold off enough stock in the fall that the load’s let up but winter's supposed to be harsh this year."

"Still just you up there?"

"Yep."

"The ranch is smaller than it used to be, true, but it's still a lot of work for one man," Chris says and turns back to the TV, evidently enthralled by the latest story about the latest bad call. After a minute of silence, which Jensen has no interest in filling, he continues. "I know somebody who could use the cash if you need a hand out there."

Jensen isn’t surprised by the turn in conversation. Chris is a man of few words and he usually has something in mind other than the weather.

"You know somebody, huh?" Jensen replies. "A friend or a friend of a friend?"

"Worse than that. An in-law. My wife's cousin, Jared." Chris orders another beer and rubs his forehead. "And you can wipe that smirk off your face any minute now, urban cowboy."

"What’s his story?"

"Just lost his job down in Amarillo when the tire plant closed."

"And getting him a new one would get Jeannie off your back."

"Fringe benefit." Chris winks. More than fringe, Jensen thinks. Mrs. Kane is what Grandpa Miller would have called a "formidable woman". Chris calls her a firecracker.

"He grew up on a ranch, so he knows the work," Chris continues. "He ran into some trouble a few years back but he's pulled his shit together. People seem to like him well enough."

Jensen has no interest in asking what "some trouble" means. If it’s no longer an issue then it’s none of his business.

"What do you think of him?" Jensen asks.

Chris shrugs. "He’s kind of a spaz to be honest. But he can work. Hell, the guy’s built like an ox. I’d give him a job myself but I’ve had the same crew since last year and I’m already cutting back for winter. I’d rather not pay the added wage just ‘cause he’s family."

An extra hand around the place isn’t the worst idea Jensen’s ever heard.

"Send him by if you want," he says. "Can’t hurt to meet him."

________

The season’s first snow falls two nights later. There’s not enough to cover the ground with any consistency, just patches of white that will turn to slush and disappear altogether by mid-afternoon. Jensen heads out early to the south pastures to unload the feed. The cows are dusted in white where the snow’s drifted onto them.

"Get ready for a long one," he tells them. They stare at him with their big brown eyes and meander to the feeder, not the least bit interested in his ruminations on the coming winter.

It’s about half past nine when he turns onto the long gravel driveway and sees a beat up Ford pickup he doesn’t recognize idling out by the house. Jensen parks his old flatbed in the barn and heads over to see who it is.

The man who steps out of the truck is tall, very tall, with broad shoulders. He’s wearing a nervous too-big smile and a ratty too-thin jacket. His hands are stuffed into his front jean pockets and he’s hunched against the cold wind. Jensen looks him over and realizes this is Jeannie’s cousin. Built like an ox. That’s one way to put it.

"Mr. Ackles?"

Jensen steps forward, hand extended. "Call me Jensen," he says. "You must be Jeannie’s cousin."

"Yeah, I’m Jared. Padalecki."

Jared’s handshake is firm and warm. His hand is huge and rough, and Jensen holds his grip just a beat longer than he probably would if it was small and cool and smooth.

"Jared, right. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm."

"Thanks. Sorry I didn’t call first." Jared follows Jensen around to the side door. "Chris thought it’d be okay for me to just drop by."

"No, it’s fine. I have some down time."

"Cool. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I think Chris is ready to get me out of his hair to be honest."

Jensen leads Jared in through the mud room where he removes his work boots and peels himself out of thick coveralls. There’s a coltish high-strung energy coming off of Jared that’s sort of disconcerting given his size. He stares down at his feet and scratches at his nape. Jensen knows the man’s waiting for him to say something but Jensen has this thing, sort of cold and calculated really, where he keeps people waiting a little longer than he should. He’s found he can tell a lot about a person by their response to the silence.

So he takes off his boots and his coveralls and he walks over to the sink and washes his hands, splashes water over his face, and he makes Jared wait.

"I’m sure that’s not true," Jensen finally says as he leads Jared to the kitchen and nods toward one of the stools on the other side of the bar where Jared takes a seat. "I’m fixing coffee. Want some?"

"Thanks. That’d be great."

Jensen starts the coffee brewing and watches it a minute before he turns to lean back against the counter, finally granting Jared his full attention.

"So, you’ve been staying with Chris and Jeannie, then?"

"What? Yeah," Jared answers. "Just for the past week or so, since I came up from Amarillo."

Jensen nods and pulls a couple of mugs down from the cabinet.

"I’ve been staying in their guest room," Jared continues, not waiting this time for Jensen to fill the silence. "Well, I guess it’ll be the nursery soon enough."

That news earns a raised eyebrow. "Really? I didn’t know she was expecting."

"Yeah, in April. I think Chris is feeling kind of stressed about the whole thing. Jeannie’s just using it as an excuse to eat like, well, like me, I guess." Jared stops himself with a laugh and shakes his head. "Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. She’ll probably be pissed," he continues. "I have a bad habit of running my mouth sometimes. Maybe not an admission I should make during an interview."

"I won’t let on that I know," Jensen assures him. "And I don’t know if I’d call this an interview."

"Oh. Okay. Well, if you don’t need somebody full time, maybe I could do some odds and ends around the place? As needed. I’d like to stay in the area for a while but there isn’t much work."

When the coffee finishes brewing, Jensen fills both mugs and slides one to Jared.

"I don’t have creamer, but milk’s in the fridge if you want some," he says.

"No, thanks. I’ll take some sugar if you’ve got it."

Jensen pulls the plastic sugar bowl down from the pantry. He hands it to Jared along with a spoon and watches him dole out – _one, two, three_ – heaping spoonfuls into the cup. Jared stirs loudly and enthusiastically before taking a drink. Sugar defiles a perfectly good cup of coffee as far as Jensen is concerned and he makes a face before he takes the first sip of his own and sets the mug down. He leans over the bar facing Jared.

"I didn’t mean that." At Jared’s questioning glance, Jensen clarifies, "About the interview. I do need somebody full time. You’ve got the job if you want it. And a place to stay. The room out back comes with the job."

"That’s awesome. Are you sure?"

"I'm assuming you have an idea of what you’re doing around a ranch," Jensen says. "Chris claims you do, anyway. After I talked to him, I started thinking that I could actually use a hand around here – for a few months at least."

"Yeah, he said you’re looking to sell before long."

"That’s the plan. I’ve leased some land to a wind farm group out of Lubbock, which might work out, too," Jensen says. "We’ve already got ten wind turbines running."

"I saw them from the road on the way over."

"I may turn more of a profit in the long run if I keep the land and lease it to them."

"Sounds promising."

"Maybe." Jensen shrugs. "I’m having an independent wind study done. I don’t want to get hooked into a bad business deal half-assed, so we’ll see. Either way, I need to unload the rest of the herd and either sell the house or close it down, probably around early summer."

"You planning on an auction?"

"Just a small one. We sold off some of the big equipment after my grandparents died. Jim bought it when he leased the place and took it with him when I came home last year to run things myself."

"Man, I used to love going to the farm auctions when I was a kid." Jared smiles at the memory. It’s a big smile, genuine and open, stunning, all dimples and uneven white teeth. Jensen turns away quickly and walks back to the coffee pot. "But they’re a lot of work."

"Getting ready for it is one more thing I can use your help with," Jensen says.

He refills their mugs and watches as Jared again violates his coffee with an overabundance of sugar. Jared catches his eye and smiles, unapologetic.

"So," Jensen finally says because he knows he ought to. "How much ranch work have you done?"

"I was brought up on a ranch, actually, just outside of San Antone," Jared replies. "It was a small operation, not much bigger than this one is now. I helped out there until I was, oh, twenty? Twenty-one? Yeah, definitely twenty-one. My dad’s back went out and of course he was a stubborn mule about it. He was supposed to be in some kind of spinal traction, but he didn’t want to deal with doctors and hospitals like a normal person, you know? And he definitely didn’t want surgery." Jared's hands fly through the air as he speaks, emphasizing each point in turn, as if his voice just isn't expressive enough. "So he ended up building his own contraption with pulleys and ladders and weights and stuff that I had to help him make. He was laid up in bed for hours every day, attached to that thing, for more than a year. It was crazy and he still ended up having surgery. Anyway, I was pretty much doing it all at the end there before they sold. My brother’s a couple of years older and he was off at college. Megan, that’s my little sister, was pretty much useless. And my mom was working, still does, at the high school. She’s an English teacher. After dad’s surgery, they sold the place and I headed off to L.A. They had an auction too, but, uh, I was gone by then so I missed it."

"Wow," Jensen says, sort of stunned. "That’s a lot of information."

"Sorry. Yeah, I ramble. I guess I mentioned that already." Jared makes a face, like he realizes his brain just caught up with his mouth but he’s used to the sensation. Is he actually, maybe, blushing? Jensen wonders. If he is, it’s just a bit, or maybe it’s the heat of the coffee flushing his skin. Jensen doesn’t want to but it feels good to notice and maybe it’s a little alarming that his own internal monologue is barreling right on down the line and clear off the tracks at Jared-speed. It’s obvious that Jared’s bopping his leg up and down like a hyperactive kid, though Jensen can’t see it from where he stands on the other side of the counter. Jared’s body practically vibrates with it and Jensen wonders how much coffee and sugar he had before coming over.

Jared clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, visibly reining himself in before he continues more slowly. "What I mean to say is – it’s been quite a while, but if you give me the lay of the land around here, I should pick it up pretty quick. And I’m grateful for the place to stay."

"Works for me," Jensen says with some finality. "Let me show you around."

He leads Jared through the house and out back to the converted garage where he’ll stay. They work out everything that needs to be worked out, regarding when and how much and the day-to-day of running the small ranch. Jared is more at ease, and he seems happy with the job. It’s smooth and easy and the whole time there’s a slow low-grade buzz, just beneath the surface, that has Jensen thinking _this is a bad idea_. He's spent over a year cutting himself off so thoroughly from his past mistakes that following through on a potentially bad idea now seems somehow radical. But maybe it’ll be fine, surely that’s a possibility. Yes, he feels a spark of attraction, but it doesn’t have to mean anything, won’t necessarily lead to anything. And if it does? That doesn’t mean it will end badly. He catches Jared’s eye as they walk toward the barn and knows he’s lying to himself.

________

Jensen's grandfather was a natural born romantic at heart. A cowboy poet, he'd sometimes called himself with no sense of irony whatsoever; a "cowboy poet," Grandma Miller had said, the quotation marks implied. For all her sarcasm, she didn't really have room to talk. She'd indulged her husband something awful over their fifty-odd years together.

Jensen doesn't imagine she put up much of a fight when the old man decided to build their modest ranch house near the top of a hill overlooking a wide stretch of plains. There was no good reason to build there and plenty of practical reasons not to. Lower ground would have provided more protection from the elements if nothing else. But Grandpa Miller had liked how the world looked from the rise of that hill, and that was all the justification he required.

It is a pretty, if stark, view, particularly on those nights when the harvest moon hangs big and low, close enough to touch it seems, bathing the land in its misty orange light. When the water’s high and the scattered trees are bare, you can see the long blue-brown curve of old Coyote Creek cut through the fields all the way out to where the land meets the sky.

But the wind whips through hard and fast across the Texas panhandle and the house is ideally positioned to catch the worst of its effects. It rattles the window panes, blows topsoil and anything else not cemented into the ground all over the goddamn place, and there are days when Jensen can barely close his own front door against it. When he's foolish enough to go out in it, or if he doesn't have a choice, which is more often the case, the wind cuts at his face like a whip. It chaps his skin and steals his breath.

The nearby tin barn is drafty and the wind whistles through it when a nasty storm blows, causing Delilah to raise an awful ruckus in her stall. Sometimes, he doesn't get any decent milk from her for days after. Jensen's sure she's holding out on principle. It doesn't much matter; he picks up his milk from the United Grocery in town.

It's only a matter of time now before he unloads the ranch, turns a tidy profit if everything goes as planned, and moves back to Dallas. He wonders how his grandparents would feel about that. His grandmother would no doubt appreciate that someone in the family has plans to make a buck off it. Grandpa Miller would probably be fairly sentimental at its loss but he'd still be pleased that when Jensen’s life went to shit and there was penance to be done, he had at last come home to do it.

________

Jared moves in on Sunday afternoon. He doesn’t bring much and they make quick work of hauling in what he does have: clothes and shoes stuffed into oversized duffel bags, an old TV set Jeannie gave him, his laptop, a set of free weights. There’s just one cardboard box, barely holding on, taped and re-taped, carrying some miscellaneous odds and ends Jensen doesn’t investigate.

The room Jared will call home is furnished and set up with satellite TV and internet, courtesy of Jim Beaver. Jensen hadn’t offered use of the house as part of the deal during the three years Jim leased the place, but he did let Jim remodel the detached garage into a room for his nephew, who'd looked after things until he got sick to death of it and took off for parts unknown.

It’s a plain and spacious room – apartment really, if you stretch the definition some – with a small bathroom. There’s a dorm-sized refrigerator and a bar sink along the back wall that passes for a kitchenette. Jared doesn’t have a microwave, so Jensen tells him to come over to the house and use the kitchen any time. They agree that neither of them is much of a cook but they’re both well versed in the basics, and it’s probably a good idea to share meals.

"I’d sell my kidney for a restaurant that delivers out here," Jared says with a smile.

"Prepared food, delivered straight to your door?" Jensen replies. "That’s crazy talk."

"Yeah, it’s a sad state of affairs out here in the boonies. It’s awfully nice of you to make it up to me with a Welcome to the Ranch steak dinner."

Jensen narrows his eyes and bites back a smile. "Steak? You think I have steak, just lying around? I thought we’d steam some vegetables, tofu it up."

"It’s a cattle ranch, Ackles. I’m willing to bet you’ve got a freezer full of old Bessie in there and I’m a big boy. I require protein and lots of it."

"I’ve only got about seventy head of cattle left," Jensen says, looking Jared over. "Will that be enough to feed you through the winter?"

Jared’s got a big laugh, big enough that his whole body moves with it, head thrown back, arms flailing. It’s almost dangerous, in more ways than one, and he gets a lot of mileage out of it. Jensen isn’t immune and as the evening progresses, while they grill up the steaks out back even though it’s all of about forty degrees, and as they prepare their plates and sit down to eat at Grandma’s old mahogany table, and when it takes a good two hours for them to get through dinner, which is complemented with a generous amount of beer and bullshitting, he finds his own laugh getting bigger and looser than it’s been in a good, long while. Maybe he really was starved for company. His self-imposed exile felt necessary and right but this feels better.

________

The next day's work starts at o' dark thirty when Jared shows up in the kitchen and heads straight to the coffee pot. They eat instant oatmeal with toast and make small talk that's no more than low-pitched grunts and tired murmurs while the radio plays quietly in the background. Jensen thinks he shouldn’t have had that last beer the night before but no amount of sober living has ever gotten him used to the early rising that’s required for ranch work. It's practically inhumane. Still, he's up and out there with it every morning because as far as he knows, that’s just how it’s done.

There are a few heifers in the barn, one that ought to calf soon, a couple more that seem to be in poor health and Delilah of course. They're all checked and fed. Delilah’s milked. It’s a chore Jared seems more comfortable with than Jensen ever has been, so he leaves the other man to it. They drive to the south pastures to lay out the feed and check for any problems with the small herd and arrive back at the house before noon. Lunch and some rest then they head out to check the fences and the wind turbines. Everything's in order, practically running itself. With no mowing or baling to be done and the worst of the winter yet to set in, the day’s pretty much done by three. Jared offers to check on the animals in the barn one more time before dinner and heads back to his room for a nap. Pretty uneventful, all told. In a couple of days, when Jared’s comfortable with the routine, they’ll divvy up the chores and part ways for most of the day to day work. Right now, Jensen's glad for the company.

In his grandparent's time, there was a lot more to do. The herd was five times its current size. There were horses and cow-dogs, and chickens that Grandma Miller would kill with a snap of their neck, easy as you please. She had a whole half acre set aside for her vegetable garden and it seemed she spent most of the summer and fall jarring for winter. They were completely self-sufficient and the ranch buzzed with activity from dawn to dusk.

Given the now diminished size of the operation, Jensen wonders if hiring Jared was too much of an indulgence. It was a favor to a friend. It'll free up more time for Jensen to concentrate on the business of selling or leasing the ranch. He can manage a trip to Lubbock sooner than expected to negotiate with JDM for the potential wind farm leases. There are plenty of good, logical reasons for keeping Jared around. Jensen’s determined to believe that much.

________

Jared spent about eight months working for Chippendales in Las Vegas. He didn’t have the moves to make it as a dancer so he served cocktails while wearing a skimpy pair of black booty shorts and a bow tie. He tells Jensen this on his third night at the ranch, over a plate of rotisserie chicken and microwaved mashed potatoes.

"That sounds terrifying," Jensen says, deadpan.

"It’s true," Jared agrees. "I was molested nightly."

"Who even goes to those places?"

"Depended on the night," Jared replies. "Some men, even though they don’t cater to gays. Bachelorette parties, hipsters who showed up to make fun of everyone else, you know, ironically. But mostly, it was a bunch of horny middle-aged women traveling in packs."

Jared laughs at Jensen’s horrified full-body shiver and looks pretty damned pleased with himself.

"Cougars?" Jensen asks.

"Not as many as you might think. I mean, they talked a good game and plenty weren’t above an unsolicited pat on the ass or a pinch while they put money down my shorts, but they were just having fun, no expectations or anything like that. And the good thing about women is they feel guilty about treating you like a piece of meat so the tips were fucking amazing."

Jensen drops his paper towel onto his lap and tries not to think about Jared in a pair of skin tight booty shorts. That’s one image he’ll save for the shower.

________

"Golf?" Jared asks the next morning. "Really?"

He looks pained by the mere mention of it.

"What?" Jensen asks, offended.

"It’s not exactly manly."

"I’ll have you know the only time I’ve ever been in a full-blown fist fight was on a golf course. It was very manly."

"Oh, no. Did somebody use the wrong putter?"

They’re walking toward the barn, frosty grass crunching noisily under their feet. The muted pink and yellow light of sunrise arcs up lazily toward the sky.

"My friend Tom and I were playing for money, we might have also had about a twelve pack between us. Dehydration was involved, I think. And anyway, he, uh, he cheated."

"Who cheated?" Jared asks, swaying a little to bump his shoulder against Jensen’s.

"Okay, I might have cheated," Jensen admits. "I have kind of a competitive streak, I guess."

"Uh-huh."

"Hey, he called me a cheater. I couldn’t just let that go."

"But you admitted you cheated."

"Not to him."

Jared laughs and claps a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. "You lost the fight, didn’t you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"If you’d won, you would have led with it. It would have been ‘I _won_ a full-blown fist fight on the golf course.’"

"You’re a keen observer of human nature, Padalecki," Jensen admits. "I held my own right up to the end though. He finally downed me with an ugly right hook. In my defense, Tom’s almost as big as you are."

"Yeah, but I bet you’re scrappy, boss."

"Anyway, all’s well that ends well. I went home with a split lip and an extra two-hundred dollars in my wallet."

________

Jared’s had a lot of jobs in a lot of places. And he likes to talk so it takes less than a week for Jensen to get the full run down, or as much as Jared can remember. In addition to his illustrious career as a Chippendales waiter, Jared worked a road crew in Atlanta (in August, it was hell), and a tourist trap of a surf shop in Miami where he was able to fake it for a good six months before they realized he’d never surfed a day in his life. There have been too many warehouse jobs to count – from a medical supplies warehouse in Tulsa to a sex toy distributor in Fresno. He drove a local delivery truck around St. Louis and tended bar in Chicago. Chicago didn’t end well and he doesn’t talk about it.

His whole long string of new jobs and new cities started in Los Angeles, where he worked as a waiter instead of an actor. He was there for over a year but that didn’t end well either. Jensen mentally places an asterisk next to Los Angeles, circa 2005, and Chicago, circa 2008. But Jared doesn’t want to go into it and that’s that.

He ended up at the tire plant in Amarillo because his aunt and uncle live in the area and his mama said he ought to move closer to home, closer to family. After years of restless wandering, Jared got to a point where he agreed with her. But he admits that if the plant hadn’t closed down last month he probably would have quit and moved on before too long anyway. He figures you can’t fight nature.

________

Apparently, Jensen peppers his regular conversation with trivia he’s gleaned from countless hours of watching The History Channel and PBS. Also, possibly E! He never realized this about himself, and it sounds pretty boorish when you lay it out like that, but nobody ever mentioned it before so maybe it wasn’t as bad back when he had a social life to offset his TV edutainment addiction.

Jared thinks it’s awesome, or so he says, and Jensen doesn’t have any reason to doubt him. Whenever Jensen drops a random observation about Lincoln or Churchill, or maybe Lindsey Lohan, Jared takes note and calls him Encyclopedia Brown.

"But, you know, if Encyclopedia Brown grew up to be totally hot," he says after remarking on some piece of arcane knowledge Jensen let slip about crop cycles in Ancient Egypt.

Jensen’s not blind or particularly self-effacing. Experience has taught him that many people do think he’s hot. Still, it’s nice (and somewhat telling) to hear it from Jared.

"I don’t think he was known primarily for his grasp of trivia," Jensen mentions one day. "Encyclopedia Brown solved crimes."

"With his big brain, though."

"Fair enough."

________

Jared doesn’t seem the type to have many regrets. The only one he mentions is that moving around so much means he’s never been able to have dogs. Dogs require some stability and, ideally, a routine that will last longer than six months at a time. That’s not something Jared’s got in him to offer anybody, much less a pet.

"It’d be nice to have a couple of dogs though," he says. "Big ones. No little sissy ankle biters."

Jensen thinks about Bruno, the Maltese he shared with Paul, but nods his head in agreement. It was more Paul’s dog than his anyway.

"Maybe one day you’ll settle down and get some," he says.

Jared shrugs, looking doubtful. "A ranch like this, you should have one sheep dog, at least," he tells Jensen. "You’re sort of a disappointment in that respect."

________

"So, you might be interested to know that you’re the subject of quite a lot of gossip around these parts," Jared says.

Jensen widens his eyes to feign surprise but he doesn’t think Jared’s buying it. "Still?" He turns his gaze back to the TV even though the game they’re watching couldn’t be more boring. This is their second Sunday watching football together, sprawled out on opposite ends of Jensen’s big plush couch. It’s already starting to feel routine.

"Oh, yeah. I got a shit ton of questions from Jeannie at dinner last night."

"I can only imagine."

"Don’t worry, I set her straight. Won’t be long before she gets the word out that you’re a world-class superspy in hiding from the secret black ops agency that killed your partner. You were out for revenge and you got it, but it didn’t satisfy you the way you thought it would. Now you’re willing to settle for some sense of peace. The old family ranch seemed as good a place as any to try and find it."

"The saddest part of all," Jensen says, shaking his head mournfully, "is that I know the peace is fleeting. They’ll be back for me and I have to be ready. Nothing good can last, not for a world-class superspy on the lam like me."

"I fear I’m in danger just being near you," Jared says with apparent concern. "But the pull is strong, man. I can’t stay away."

Jensen childishly throws a Dorito at Jared’s head, which Jared immediately pops in his mouth and chews loudly. They share a laugh but Jared’s watching him, his underlying curiosity obvious. Jensen knows he hasn’t been very forthcoming, to Jared or anybody else. In fact, it’s been a long lonely year of being anything but.

"It’s no secret I worked for an oil company in Dallas," he says.

"Yeah, I heard you made quite a name for yourself out there."

"You did?" Jensen’s surprised. He supposes his grandparents must have bragged about him to Chris and anybody else who would listen but they’ve been gone for years. He wonders if Jared asked Chris about him.

"Yep. Jensen Ackles, golden child of the evil oil empire."

"I guess so." It seems sort of distant and faded to him now but, God, it used to be everything. "I was quite the up-and-comer in my time. At a mere twenty-seven years of age, I became the youngest Vice President in the history of OCOA Enterprises."

"Really?"

"Yep. VP of Marketing for a bloated, morally bankrupt oil conglomerate. I pimped out probably the ugliest whore on the corner and did a damn good job of it. Hold your applause. It’s quite an accomplishment, I know."

Jensen’s going to twist his lips into some semblance of a self-mocking smile, wants to show that the whole thing is an old joke to him now. But Jared’s watching, intent, and Jensen feels it fall flat and thin. "What?" He asks. "Aren’t you impressed?"

"I don’t know what the sarcasm’s about," Jared says quietly. "It is impressive. You should be proud."

It’s said so slow and sincere, Jensen feels his gut clench and takes a break from normal breathing for some small, undetermined period of time. He stares at Jared, maybe rudely, before he remembers to stutter out a slow exhale. "Thanks," he says when he’s able to match Jared’s serious tone.

Jared’s eyes are warm and soft, watchful. "But why did you come back home? That’s the question on everybody’s mind."

"I don’t care what’s on everybody’s mind."

"Mine, then. I’m curious."

"I’m on a journey of self-discovery."

"Hmm. That’s more Lifetime Original than spy movie but I still call bullshit. Why’d you come back here, Jensen?"

He asks the question like he cares about the answer, so Jensen considers it, gnawing at his lower lip until he feels the skin bruise and swell.

"Or, you know, tell me it’s none of my damn business and let it go at that," Jared says in a rush.

Jensen’s surprised to realize he doesn’t want to let it go at that. He’s been thinking about this very thing for months but he’s still not sure he has an answer before he starts talking.

"It’s not even really home," he admits. "I grew up in Richardson, but, I don’t know. There was just something about running around out here when I was a kid, staying with my grandparents, my mom’s folks."

He’d returned to the ranch every summer, long after his brother outgrew it. Mac had never cared much for it. After a while, it was just Jensen and his grandparents, every summer until he was eighteen. Then he stopped coming, sidetracked by college and boys and ambition, rarely giving any thought to the old place. His grandparents kept up with him through letters and the occasional phone call, but as the years went by those dropped off too.

"So you wanted to come back and, I don’t know, reconnect?" Jared asks.

"No, not like that," Jensen finally answers. "Not really. It’s childhood memories, it helped make me who I am, I guess, but it’s not something I ever thought to return to. When I decided to come back it wasn’t because I suddenly had a desire to wrestle with a bunch of ornery cows."

"Then why?"

This must be what it’s like to visit a shrink, or to hang out with a five year old who's always looking for a better answer. There’s only so much truth Jensen's willing to spew, but Jared keeps coming at him like he knows which buttons to push, like he wants to push them. He searches Jared’s gaze, finds nothing but friendly curiosity and maybe something more heated than that in their hazel depths.

"I guess because," Jensen starts, stops, starts again. "Because I fucked up my life. I was ashamed more than anything else, so I headed back here with my tail between my legs. To lick my wounds. To give everybody time to forget what a mess I made of everything." He scratches a hand through his hair, shakes his head, and looks up at the ceiling. "God, it’s stupid."

"Doesn’t sound so stupid to me," Jared says.

"I left my life, my career, or what was left of it, behind, came out here to the middle of nowhere and I’ve spent over a year alone because I was fucking embarrassed. I mean, come on. Who does that?"

Jared barks a short loud laugh. He reaches over to pat Jensen’s knee and leans in closer, but not with any obvious intent.

"Man, I’ve lived more places than I can count and I haven’t lasted much more than a year in any of them. You don’t honestly believe that I never took off out of shame or stupidity, do you?"

Jensen can’t quite wrap his mind around Jared’s itinerant lifestyle. The idea of packing up when he pleases and heading off to places unknown is daunting. Jared makes it sound easy as can be to start a whole new life; new job, new friends, new place to hang his hat, whenever and wherever he wants. Suddenly, the thought of it is exhausting and Jensen wonders for the first time what Jared’s running from.

"I guess we’re quite a pair," is all he says.

________

Grandma Miller used to enforce a strict "no smoking in the house" rule that Jensen still observes. He can’t walk onto the big wraparound porch to light up without thinking of her and of his grandfather. There’s not one member of their immediate family who wouldn’t have flayed the old man alive if they knew he'd started "loaning" cigarettes to Jensen when he was only sixteen.

The sun’s setting and there’s a chill in the air but the wind’s calm when Jensen steps forward to lean against the railing and light his evening cigarette. It’s a nasty habit but he’s down to only two or three a day. He’s determined that when he leaves this place, he’ll quit for good.

Paul nagged him about it sometimes but his complaints fell on deaf ears and he gave up after a while. It gives Jensen a certain twisted satisfaction to think that quitting on his own is just one more little thing that will piss off his ex if he finds out about it. Paul’s not that petty, Jensen knows, but he’d like it to cause some twinge of something that might feel like regret. Truth is, all the regret rightfully belongs to him but Jensen’s sick of carrying it.

He catches sight of Jared leaving the barn and holds up a hand to him. Jared grins big and waves back, sidesteps a little and walks up to the porch to lean on the railing next to Jensen.

"God damn, will you look at that," Jared says with a whistle. "It’s like a painting or something."

Jensen flicks ashes from his near burnt-out cigarette and looks at Jared. The light from the setting sun is diffused in the wintery air and it bathes him in orange and gold. It takes Jensen some moments to tear his gaze away and face forward to appreciate the view that’s caught Jared’s eye.

The land is dirt-red and brown, save a few acres of green rye grass here and there. The creek is low. They’re due for heavy rain over the Christmas holiday so it’ll swell and probably overflow the old cement bridge. He figures that’ll be a bitch to deal with and the cows will likely get themselves caught up in some mud pits it’ll be no fun dragging them out from.

Jensen drops his cigarette butt to the porch and grinds it out with his boot before looking back toward Jared to find himself under scrutiny.

"You’re not appreciating the view at all," Jared says with a grin.

"My grandfather had the house built here, on this ridge, for just this reason. I’ve seen it thousands of times."

Jared nods and looks back out over it. And sure, the land is bare and the creek is low. It’s cold and getting colder. Soon the wind will stir up and blow through like it always does, and the rain and sleet will fall. And, yes, Jensen’s seen it too many times to count, but he does have some of his grandfather left in him. He still finds the beauty in it. It’s stunning, the way the sun casts out its dying light. Its last purple rays spill over the plains as it sinks down, down, down, into the land.

Somehow or another, he and Jared have moved in close and their arms press together. When they look at each other there’s very little space between them. Jared’s gaze travels over Jensen’s face with a heat so intense he feels it like touch.

"So, listen," Jared says quietly, breaking the gaze to bow his head before peering up at Jensen through fine lashes, "I wanted to apologize if I got too nosy yesterday with all the questions."

"I wouldn’t have answered if I didn’t want to," Jensen assures him.

"In that case, I’ll have to bother you for the rest of the story someday."

"You tell me your secrets, I’ll tell you mine."

Jared makes a face that’s hard to read. "Well, then," he pauses and squints thoughtfully. "I think you should know that Beulah’s gonna drop that calf any day now."

"Beulah?" Jensen asks with a surprised laugh, grateful for the change of topic.

"The heifer in your barn? About twelve years pregnant," he says like Jensen’s dense.

"You named her?"

"You named Delilah," Jared defends.

"Delilah’s not gonna be hamburger meat next year."

"Hey now, don’t talk that way in front of Beulah. She’s sensitive."

"Beulah’s a slut, gettin’ knocked up like that out of season," Jensen says.

Jared laughs and looks at him with something like affection. It’s nice, but Jensen steps away before the thought can land him in trouble. He’s really walking a damn fine line between _all right_ and _trouble_ these days. More and more, it seems dependent on his proximity to Jared.

"Somebody didn’t get their mouth washed out with soap enough when they were a kid," Jared tells him, taking his own step back.

"Man, you have no idea. It just never took."

"Is that so?"

"One thing you need to learn," Jensen finishes with a wink before retreating back into the house. "I can’t be tamed."

"Wouldn’t dream of trying," Jared says before calling, "‘Night, boss" after him.

When Jensen looks out the big bay window nearly half an hour later, Jared’s still standing on the porch, looking toward the horizon as darkness smothers the final stubborn light of day. He doesn’t join Jensen for supper.

________

It’s no surprise when Beulah finally calves the next night, and it just figures that she chooses four o’clock in the damn morning to start the push. Jared calls Jensen to let him know that her labor’s started in earnest and assures him everything’s running smooth.

Jensen fumbles with the phone to end the call and drops it to the floor instead of returning it to its cradle. He pulls the covers over his head, turns onto his stomach, adjusts his pillow, and wants to kick himself for insisting on an update. It’s fucking disconcerting to have Jared wake him up from a dream that may have involved – okay definitely involved – Jensen doing certain things to Jared, very specific and special kinds of things that may actually be illegal in certain parts of the state.

Ten minutes later he figures he’s not going back to sleep anytime soon and drags himself out of bed. He fixes some coffee and throws on warm clothes and an old work coat before heading out to the barn, thermos in hand.

Jared’s moved Beulah to the paddock where she has more room, and he sits on a fence post to keep an eye on her. The light from the barn is dim but adequate. When the labor’s going well, it’s best to simply let nature take its course.

"You get any sleep?" Jensen asks, passing a thermos lid full of coffee up to Jared.

"Couple of hours, off and on." Jared’s voice is low and scratchy. He doesn’t seem to register the lack of sugar so Jensen figures he must be pretty damn tired.

Jensen props a foot on the bottom rung of the paddock gate to join vigil over the increasingly uncomfortable heifer. She settles down onto her side, huffing deep breaths. "Poor old girl," he says.

"That’s a damn sight nicer than ‘slut’," Jared replies with a lazy smile.

"I’m not completely heartless. Besides, the old bull that knocked her up is at least half to blame and he’s probably sleeping like a baby right now."

"A woman’s work…" Jared allows the half-formed sentiment to fade away.

Jensen _hmms_ his response and they fall into companionable silence. It’s not long before the calves’ front hooves appear. A couple of visible pushes from Beulah and it slides out in a messy heap, so hot in the frigid pre-dawn air that steam rises off it. The heifer immediately stands and starts cleaning her newborn.

The whole ordeal makes Jensen grimace and turn his head while Jared slides down off his post to observe a little more closely as the calf is licked clean and rises clumsily to his feet to enjoy his first meal.

Jared returns to the fence and leans over to face Jensen on the other side. "Well, that’s that I guess."

"Seems like a lot of sleepless waiting around for such an uneventful birth," Jensen says. "You take the day off and get some shuteye. You’ll need to be well rested for your drive down to San Antonio tomorrow. I’ll check in on the herd."

"I think I’ll take you up on that." Jared scrubs a hand over his face. "Did you decide whether you’re heading to your folks’ for Christmas?"

Jensen shakes his head. "Nah. I’ll stay here, keep an eye on things."

Jared looks like he might have something to say about that but they’re distracted when a cold mist starts to fall.

"Better get mama and child back in their manger," Jensen remarks and climbs over the gate to help Jared. They steer Beulah and her calf back to the barn and into a warm, dark corner. She’s on board with the plan so they make quick work of it. Still, by the time the animals are settled, the rain’s picked up and it pounds down, hard and cold. Jensen has no desire to go out in it.

"Wish I had my hat," Jared says. Jensen nods his agreement and moves to stand next to him at the barn’s entrance.

The rain ricochets like machine gun fire off the tin roof, almost deafening in its intensity. Delilah stirs, making her displeasure known as she always does when circumstances don’t suit her. It’s cold and wet and loud and if it doesn’t look like the end of the world, it at least sounds like it. Something about the thought makes Jensen shake his head and stifle a laugh.

He senses Jared watching him and shoots a questioning glance.

"Jensen, I…" Jared starts and trails off, his voice almost drowned out by the noise. Jensen turns to face him, but Jared’s suddenly looking anywhere else until he says, loudly, "Oh, fuck it."

And suddenly Jared’s stepping right up to him, eyes burning, direct and intense, hungry. Jensen’s so not ready for this, but he’s not able to turn from it either and then Jared’s on him, big hands rough on his shoulders, dropping down and then back up to his face. They gentle and slide slow over Jensen’s cheeks, then curl around to cradle his head. There’s the slightest tremor in them. Jensen licks his lips, feels a shot of desire like adrenaline, like fear, rush through him. Jared tilts his head, moves in closer and presses his mouth, lips closed and firm, to Jensen’s.

Everything stills for the barest moment then Jensen’s opening himself to it, the clash of lips, tongues and teeth. The kiss is hard and frantic, and he presses himself impossibly closer, as close as their winter clothing will allow. He’s burning up with it, and he can’t think, doesn’t want to think, as Jared shoves him up against the big barn door, cushioning the back of his head with his hand, and the rain just keeps pounding all around them.

Jensen knows it’s been coming and he knows why it’s probably a bad idea, but he’s too weak to resist. He’s always given in to his desires, hasn’t he? (That’s what _you people_ do.) He’s been called controlling, but he’s never been big on self-control, not when it comes to this: desire so hot it sparks and bursts and fills him up inside, invading his dreams and all his waking thoughts. Jared, Jared, Jared. So big and hard and – _Jesus, fuck_.

Jared stops, pulls away from the kiss. He looks down at Jensen, presses their foreheads together, so close their eyelashes touch. They pant, erratic warm breath exhaled as clouds on cold air, bodies shaking with the rush. Jensen could get so lost in this, in the way Jared’s looking at him, like he wants to eat him alive. He can only imagine what Jared sees in return. Jensen wants to take it, all of it, everything. He can see it, Jared laid out on crisp white sheets, naked, Jensen’s to possess, twisting and sweating with pleasure and exertion and –

He can’t. He can’t do this. He can’t _be_ this, wanting and possessive, reckless with need.

With a sudden surge of resolve, Jensen draws into himself and pushes Jared away. Jared allows himself to be moved with a hitched laugh.

"Wow," Jared says.

"No." Jensen runs a hand through his hair and steps away.

"Not wow?" Jared’s voice is breathy and uneven like he just finished a sprint, but amused like there’s a joke in there somewhere.

"No," Jensen repeats. "Not anything. We can’t do this, Jared. I can’t."

"What?"

"I don’t want this. I don’t want…" he trails off, waving his hand toward Jared.

"That’s not how it seemed to me."

"I’m sorry."

Jared stares at him. His body’s gone taut, neck and cheeks flushed red, and the way he looks at Jensen – confusion, anger, disappointment – Jensen hates it, but he forces himself to hold the gaze.

 _Fuck this_ , he thinks, suddenly claustrophobic. A little rain never hurt anybody. He turns to leave, walk back to the house, lock himself inside where he can pretend this never happened. He’s stilled by Jared’s hand on his arm. Jared tugs him back and Jensen swings around to face him.

"I’ve been a practicing homosexual for a while now," Jared says, voice hard. "I know when a man wants me, and if there was any doubt, you just laid it to rest."

"I can’t."

Jared looks ready to argue, but Jensen quiets him with a raised hand, the barest touch of his palm on Jared’s chest.

"Leave it be. Please," Jensen says. "Leave me be."

Jared dips his head in a slow nod and steps back.

Jensen can’t get away fast enough. Rain soaks him through on the short walk back to the house. It’s barbed and frigid, and Jensen welcomes the sensation of something so opposite the heat of Jared, the friction of contact that still has him half hard even as he makes his escape.

He heads directly to the bathroom to strip down and run a lukewarm shower. He steps under the water and, before his body can even adjust to the change in temperature, wraps his hand around his cock. Jensen thinks of Jared’s body pressed against his own, the earthy smell and the size of him. He bites his lip and swallows Jared’s name when he comes hard after only a few rough strokes.

Later, he heads out to tend the herd. He wades through the mud in rubber work boots and ducks his head low under his trucker cap to keep the rain out of his eyes. As he works, he counts all the reasons the answer has to be no, the many ways he so royally fucked up everything before.

________

That afternoon, Jensen sits on the couch, oblivious to whatever’s on TV, and replays the kiss in his mind, again and again. Finally, he has to laugh at himself for being such a drama queen. Maybe it’s time to cut himself some slack. Maybe he can have this if he wants it, whatever it turns out to be.

It’s around three when he hears a knock on the side door and opens it to find Jared standing at the threshold. All traces of the hurt and confusion from earlier are gone, buried under a friendly, if not altogether open, smile. There’s a big duffel bag set down next to him. Jensen tenses, thinks _he’s leaving_ , feels it like a sharp, unexpected jolt of electricity. _Fuck_.

Jensen steps back and gestures for him to come in. Jared ignores it, choosing to stay put under the awning of the small stone landing.

"I just came by to let you know that I’m gonna take off for San Antone now," Jared says. "Get a head start."

"It’s a pretty long drive, isn’t it? Especially in this weather."

"I’ll stay over someplace tonight," Jared assures him. "Start up again fresh in the morning."

"Still plan to head back here on the twenty-seventh?" Jensen's going for casual, but isn't sure he achieves it.

"I guess that depends."

"On?"

Jared shakes his head, smiles almost ruefully, and looks Jensen square in the eye. "Do you want me to come back?"

Jensen doesn’t have to think about his answer, but he does consider whether to give it honestly.

"Yes," he says, finally. "Yes, Jared. Come back."

A small smile, maybe hopeful, and Jared’s gone. Jensen watches him walk to his truck, throw his gear into the passenger seat and take off down the long driveway. He’ll be gone five days all told. They’re five days Jensen needs to build his defenses against this thing between them, or to figure out a way to have it.

 

 **  
_two_   
**

Jensen met Paul at _The Boom Room_ in Dallas. It was one of those ridiculous techno dance clubs that specialize in top forty remixes and ten dollar cocktails. Jensen hated the music and didn’t particularly care for the press or the smell of the sweaty, writhing masses. What Jensen did like was an easy, uncomplicated blowjob from the stranger of his choice. It wasn’t a habit, nothing he indulged in too often, but when he was in the mood he could usually have his pick at the club.

That night, it was Paul. He was pretty but not too pretty, a little shorter than Jensen, with striking eyes and barely there highlights. He looked vaguely uncomfortable in his skinny jeans and tight black t-shirt and as reluctant to step onto the dance floor as Jensen was.

It was an easy pick-up. Jensen bought him a cocktail and stood too close, barely remembered to exchange first names. With that formality out of the way, he motioned to the back room. Paul didn’t need to be asked twice, and they quickly made their way to a dark corner. When Jensen tapped his shoulder, Paul sank gracefully to his knees and peered up, his chalkboard green eyes bright under the occasional flicker of light from the dance floor.

He rolled a condom onto Jensen’s cock and sucked him off nice and slow. Jensen pressed his shoulders back against the wall and pushed his hips forward. He liked this one, this one was nice, hollowing out his cheeks and pressing his tongue along the underside of Jensen’s cock while he took it all with little apparent effort. He kept his gaze on Jensen, looking up through his lashes, vulnerable, submissive. It was just the kind of illusion Jensen could appreciate. His low moan when he came was swallowed by a synthesized bass line.

Paul stood and pressed himself against Jensen, his hard on straining against his jeans. Jensen unzipped them, released Paul’s cock and ground himself against it, brought his hand down and stroked him off. Paul came with a sigh and a press of his mouth against Jensen’s neck.

"Better get cleaned up," he murmured.

Jensen only nodded and watched him go. He left the club before Paul could make it back from the restroom.

________

To say Jensen was surprised to meet Paul again less than a week later in Conference Room B would have been an understatement. Jensen believed in the separation of work and play. He was meticulous about it. It was one thing to be out, there was even some advantage for the company in having a token gay in their marketing division, but he knew the score. Nobody wanted to be reminded of it. As far as the people he worked with were concerned, he was a eunuch, and Jensen was more than fine with that.

So when Tom ‘introduced’ him to Paul with some barely heard remark about the man interning with legal while he finished law school, Jensen plastered on his blankest most professional smile and gave him a good old, "Hi, Paul. I’m Jensen. Welcome to OCOA." Paul didn’t betray their previous association with anything more than a raised eyebrow and a smirk he kept to himself until nobody else was looking.

Officially, Paul wasn’t Jensen’s subordinate, but the professional relationship was sketchy enough that Jensen would have kept his distance even if he wanted a repeat performance of that night in the club. It proved easy. There was little intersection between their departments, and Paul didn’t seem any more interested than Jensen was.

Several weeks later, Jensen found himself seated near Paul in one of the private rooms of _Paschal’s_ Italian restaurant, along with over fifty of their colleagues, all gathered to celebrate Mark Sheppard’s retirement. Mark had been the VP of Marketing for nearly ten years and personally recommended Jensen as his replacement. No official decision had been made but Jensen felt confident the job would be his. He was riding high on success, felt free and friendly with it. His usual workplace reserve slipped after his second whiskey and he traded off-color stories with Mark until the crowd started to thin out. Paul kept an eye on him all night, and Jensen enjoyed the attention.

"You know, my internship is over in a couple of weeks," Paul said when they both got up to leave. "Once I pass the bar, I’m going into private practice with my dad."

"You’re telling me this why?"

"Because when I’m not with OCOA anymore, it wouldn’t be at all unprofessional for you to take me out, take me home, and fuck me until I can’t remember my own name," Paul whispered hotly into his ear. "If you want."

Jensen didn't wait. He took Paul home that night and fucked him until neither of them could remember their names. When Paul rolled out of bed, mumbling something about a cab, Jensen pulled him back, commanded gruffly, "Stay." It felt like the most natural thing in the world. It felt like a beginning.

Jensen did get the job. And he got the guy. For the first time, he found himself in a real relationship and it was easier and better than he had imagined. He attributed this fact entirely to Paul, who sometimes said that teaching Jensen how to be a boyfriend was like trying to teach a pig to dance, both worth the effort for the spectacle alone.

Questionable dancing pig analogies aside, Paul was damn near perfect. He was smart and ambitious. He understood the demands of Jensen’s job and didn’t complain about the long hours since he was working almost as many himself. Paul had a large circle of friends from law school that Jensen fit into easily as the few friends he had outside of work slipped away. There just weren’t enough hours in the day to keep up with everyone.

They'd been together about six months when Jensen introduced Paul to his parents. He'd come out to his family when he was still in college, and after some initial resistance they came to accept what they'd deemed his ‘lifestyle’, but only in the abstract. Jensen had never brought anyone home to meet them. None of his previous flings or one night stands merited the discomfort it would cause.

It took a little work but Paul ingratiated himself with the family. It made Jensen’s life easier and he appreciated the effort. When they found their own place and moved in together after almost a year, he was surprised by his dad’s "it’s about time" response.

________

The first time Jensen strayed, he and Paul had been together for over two years. He was away on business and met a man in the hotel bar. Jensen felt the old familiar surge of just wanting a pretty stranger to suck him off. And for that night, when he wrote his room number on a napkin, as he waited for the man’s knock, when he opened the door to him, and as they got each other off with mouths and hands and as they grinded against each other on the bed, he never once thought of Paul. It didn’t occur to Jensen to feel the slightest regret until he returned home two days later to a happy and clueless boyfriend.

The guilt hit him then, hard, but Jensen didn’t even consider coming clean. Paul loved him, he would be devastated to learn the truth. It would never happen again. Jensen could think of no good reason to potentially destroy what they had built together. They were the golden gay couple of Dallas, with a gorgeous home, supportive friends and family, all topped off with an overly groomed dog and a still happy and horny sex life. It had been one night. Jensen would put it behind him, no one the wiser.

________

The downside to not getting caught was that it made Jensen wonder if he could maybe not get caught again. There was another one night stand at a conference in Seattle four months later. Weeks went by and Jensen returned alone to what had been _The Boom Room_. Same club, new name, and nothing else had really changed. The twinks seemed younger but Jensen figured that was relative. Maybe he wanted to prove to himself that he could still send a man to his knees with a drink and a nod.

Luis was young, he was tall and dark and lean, and he had some moves. They got each other off in the back room and Jensen went home with him. He didn’t stumble back into the bed he shared with Paul until two in the morning, his story set in advance, the one where he’d gone to a local bar to hear his old friend Steve play and got caught up talking old times. Jensen hadn’t spoken to Steve for nearly three years at that point but Paul wasn’t keeping tabs. As far as he knew, they were fine.

The sex with Luis was amazing, dirty filthy addictive and Jensen went back for more, again and again. That's when things got sloppy.

When Luis pulled Jensen’s number off his phone and started texting at all hours, Jensen knew he had to end it. He didn’t think Paul had checked his phone but he seemed distant, increasingly suspicious. Jensen hoped that was just his own growing paranoia. If Paul was distant, it was because of work. If Paul suspected, he would have said something.

The thing with Luis ended messy. Jensen was strung out on it, on Luis’ overwrought pleas, on the desperate sex and the lies. He wouldn’t sacrifice his career to it, wouldn’t sacrifice his life. Jensen changed his number, gave some excuse, and moved on, but the ordeal left him worse for the wear. He threw himself into work, which meant sometimes sixty-five or seventy hours a week instead of his usual sixty.

There was a long, bad week at the office, another club, another one night stand just to take the edge off, and Jensen started to think he could have this. It couldn’t get so messy again, no more nights with men who’d want more. He needed rules, boundaries. One night stands, first names only, and he needed to keep Paul distracted, maintain control of the relationship even as he spun out so completely.

Jensen stopped trying to figure it out, how he’d come to this. If anyone had known to ask, he would have said he liked to fuck and he liked variety. It felt like bullshit but he didn’t have any other explanation, even for himself.

All told, he cheated on Paul with six different men: two one night stands while he was away on business, Luis who lasted too long, and two other guys he picked up at the club. It was number six that got him in trouble. There’s something to be said for the old adage about dipping your pen in company ink.

Matt was somebody’s administrative assistant, just out of college, and a little star struck by the handsome, openly gay VP. He stayed late to offer his help on projects he wasn’t involved in, couldn’t have been more obvious if he tried. Jensen wasn’t opposed to obvious. It felt dangerous, breaking his own rules. He liked the rush of it, and Matt seemed happy to take what he could get.

It was after hours in the office, almost nine o’clock, and Jensen had Matt spread out over his desk, shirt unbuttoned, pants down around his ankles, writhing awkwardly beneath him, begging for it. The sound of somebody clearing their throat behind him stopped Jensen cold. In the half second before he pulled out of Matt, he thought of a million ways to talk himself out of it. And in the half second it took him to turn around, he knew that he was screwed.

Samantha Ferris stood in the doorway, lips pursed and arms crossed. She was the Area Director for the Southwest Region, and Jensen had always liked her. He stifled a nervous laugh.

"Samantha, I can explain."

"Your dick’s hanging out, Ackles, and I think the condom’s about to fall off," she replied before walking away.

The next morning, after a sleepless night of not saying a damn thing to Paul, Jensen was called in for his reckoning. Sera Gamble, the Director of Human Resources, sat him down and broke the news – immediate suspension without pay, pending an internal investigation. Matt wasn’t claiming harassment so there was a chance Jensen could return in a few months. But the rumor mill was already in full force and if his ability to do his job suffered due to the public nature of his indiscretion, they would have no choice but to terminate employment.

None of it seemed to register; he supposed it was shock. Sera called his name as he rose to leave. The expression he turned back to her must have been pretty stark and she regarded him with something that looked like compassion.

"Have you told Paul?" She asked.

"No. I…" Jensen shrugged. He’d been working out a new story to spin, some way to convince Paul he was taking a leave of absence or looking for a new job by choice.

"Take a piece of advice from someone who can tell what you’re thinking," Sera said. "Go to him, right now, and tell him the truth. Paul still knows people here and he will find out. Make sure it comes from you."

She was right, of course. There was no getting out of it. "Do you think he’ll forgive me?"

"I don’t know him well enough to guess," Sera said. "But my gut reaction is gonna have to be no."

________

The enormity of the situation must have registered in his voice. Paul left work immediately to meet Jensen at home.

The only plan Jensen had, the only thing he knew, was that he’d admit to what he’d been caught doing and nothing more. Stressful work, long hours, willing co-worker. Just one bad mistake, can’t we get through just one bad mistake?

But Paul wasn’t stupid. Yes, he’d turned a blind eye and put up with a strained relationship for too long, but when the pieces fell into place, they did so with a resounding boom. He remembered the late nights, text messages at ungodly hours, business trips that went on a day too long, Jensen’s paranoia that seemed to spring from nowhere.

"You know, you’ve been such a controlling, paranoid asshole. I actually wondered what I did wrong," Paul shouted at him.

"You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. It was all me."

"Don’t ‘baby’ me now, you bastard." Paul paced the room, circled around and around, his gaze roaming over anything but Jensen. "Were you safe?"

"Yes, of course."

"Oh, _of course_. I should just have faith, right?"

"I always used a condom. I got tested. I wouldn’t bring that home to you."

"Such a romantic."

Jensen ignored the sarcasm. "I’m sorry," he said. "Please, I need you. I need your help."

"My help?" Paul scoffed. Pacing, pacing, back and forth, round and round.

"Yes, I’m messed up. Can’t you see how messed up this is?"

Paul laughed and finally detoured from his constant loop to get in Jensen’s face. "Yeah," he said, low and bitter. "I can see how messed up this is."

"Let me make it up to you. We can fix this."

"That’s not going to happen."

They went several more rounds, pleading and yelling, every lie brought out and examined like evidence in a court of law. Finally, voice shot and eyes red, Jensen packed his suitcase and walked out for good. Nothing he said amounted to much. Paul had told the truth. It wasn’t going to happen.

Jensen thought maybe he’d go out, get drunk and laid, a twisted celebration of his newfound freedom, only to discover he didn’t want those things anymore. He supposed that was irony, but it felt too cheap to be anything but a sick joke. The dark underbelly of that life, the lies, the sick pride he took in getting away with it, finally hit him. His skin crawled with it. Jensen felt dirty in a way that he didn't think would ever wash off.

He went to his parents’ that weekend to tell them about the split, but Paul had already called and filled them in on the worst of it. Jensen knew it was punishment and he knew he deserved it; still, it pissed him off. When he admitted the truth, his father shook his head. "I should have expected this. That’s what you people do, isn’t it? No self-control."

"Well, it’s what I did," Jensen said, barely able to hold onto a thought long enough to express it, wrung out as he was with exhaustion and regret. "Plenty of straight people are guilty of the same."

When his dad turned away, Jensen realized the recent embrace of his sexual orientation was more about Paul than genuine acceptance of who he was. Since who he was turned out to be a manipulative, cheating manwhore, who was he to argue?

"You’re still our son and we love you, no matter what," his mother said. Not the most ringing endorsement in the world but by then he was willing to take what he could get and be grateful.

When it came down to it, the friends they’d shared were Paul’s friends and they closed ranks, icing Jensen out pretty decisively. It was what he deserved, the least he should have expected. Even so, he was alone in the aftermath of all his mistakes, with no work to distract him. The realization was gutting.

Jensen spent two weeks living out of a suitcase. When Paul finally called to ask where he wanted his things shipped, Jensen made a quick decision and gave him the address of his grandparents’ ranch. Moving there would be an escape from the utter humiliation Dallas offered. Maybe going all the way home was a place to begin again, and if he was going to be rightly punished for his sins, he may as well serve his time there.

 

~*~*~*~*~

It’s after midnight when Jared returns. The house is dark and Jensen sits at the dining room table nursing his third drink of the night. When the lights from Jared’s truck crest over the hill, he breathes a sigh of relief, downs the last bit of Jack from the bottom of his glass in one long swallow, and heads to bed.

Jared shows up in the kitchen the next morning as usual. There’s some tension in the air but it’s not oppressive. Christmas was fine, good to see everybody. Jared’s mama bought him a ton of winter gear that’ll come in handy during the forecasted January blizzard. Jensen spent Christmas with the cows but he Skyped with his family and it was nice to see them. Jared smiles at that and Jensen ducks his head. It’s odd and sort of wonderful that Jared cares like he does.

It doesn’t seem they’re going to discuss what happened in the barn. Jensen figured he’d stay quiet on the subject but he’s surprised Jared’s doing the same. They go together to tend the herd but Jensen comes back to the house alone while Jared continues the ranch work. Jensen spends most of the afternoon preparing for a meeting he’s set up with JDM to go over the wind farm leases. One more hard winter, one more wet and muddy spring, and it’ll be time to let this place go for good.

They gorge themselves on hamburgers and fries that night, with a side order of deli-bought coleslaw and their usual brown ale. Jared’s more economical with his words than usual and not as free with his laughter, but he keeps things friendly.

Jensen thought about this over Christmas, and not much else, how to handle the sheer physical presence of Jared back in his home. It’s not something he can plan for or defend against, there’s no magic thought or discipline he knows that will slow the rush of blood in his veins. He half decided he wouldn’t fight it at all, but Jared’s the one keeping arm’s length now. If something’s going to happen, Jensen will have to be the one to start it. _Fine_ , he thinks. _Good_. That’s how it should be.

It’s Jared’s turn to do the dishes and in typical Jared fashion, he’s filled the sink with too much water so it nearly overflows with suds. His gray t-shirt is wet here and there, not enough to make it interesting but enough that Jensen wants to do something about it. He finishes clearing the table and moves to stand behind Jared, gaze riveted to their shared reflection in the window above the sink.

When Jared peers up to catch him staring, Jensen doesn’t look away. He moves in closer and Jared drops his gaze; the muscles of his arms flex and relax, but he doesn’t stop scrubbing the skillet.

Jensen presses in closer, his chest to Jared’s back, until there’s barely any space for light between them. He reaches out to dip his hand in the soapy water, swirls it with his fingers and skates them over Jared’s hand and up his forearm in a long lazy movement. He watches the reflection in the window, hazy in the fogged glass, a vague distorted version of them. Jared’s head is bowed, his hands at rest in the water. He’s still in a way he never is. For one strange, seductive moment Jensen imagines himself as a lurking, predatory force closing in on its prey.

Jensen passes his hand over the bend of Jared’s elbow and curls his fingers around his firm bicep, runs his hand up Jared’s arm to his shoulder, leaving drops of water along his skin and the fabric of his shirt. He takes a step to the side and just far enough back so he can rest his hand at Jared’s nape. That neck, long and tan and muscular, always in motion as Jared throws it back in laughter or bows it in odd moments of shyness or deliberation. It’s warm under Jensen’s hand; he can feel the pulse jump under his fingers.

"It’s good to have you home," Jensen says finally, voice pitched low and soft.

Jared meets Jensen’s reflected gaze in the window as he nods and licks his lips. Jensen squeezes, hoping to leave just the barest imprint on Jared’s flesh, before he drops his hand and turns away, suddenly in urgent need of a smoke. He walks outside to light up, grabbing his coat on the way.

He only has time for one slow drag before the door opens behind him and Jared steps onto the porch.

"What is this?" Jared’s voice is strained and confrontational. "Is this some kind of game to you?"

Jensen shakes his head. "No, not a game, but if this is going to happen–" he pauses, takes another drag. "I do want this, God knows. But if it’s going to happen, it has to be on my terms."

"Which are?"

"I can’t afford to lose control, not of myself." Jensen hears the tremor in his own voice but it’s slight enough that Jared doesn’t seem to register it.

"Well, assuming we’re talking about sex," Jared says, "a little out-of-control is generally considered a good thing."

"Not for me. And, I know I started it," Jensen admits. "But not tonight. I'm not ready."

Jared stares and he must see something persuasive in Jensen’s eyes; he doesn’t have to look into them long before he jerks his head in a single nod.

"All right," he says. "I’ll finish up the dishes and call it a night. I’m freezing my ass off out here, anyway."

"Sounds good. See you in the morning."

When Jared returns to the house, Jensen releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Whatever willpower he still possesses, the reserves are running low. He’s not sure why he turned Jared away again, fears he’s become too cautious by half, fears even more that Jared won’t put up with this much longer. He waits until he hears Jared leave before he heads back inside.

________

It rains again that night and one old Angus bull gets himself stuck in mud out by the watering hole. It takes nearly an hour to pull him out and by then they’re too damn exhausted to unload the feed so they take a break. The heater doesn’t really work unless the truck’s in motion so they sit on the cold bench seat and wait to catch a second wind. Cows, all told, are pretty fucking stupid.

"I know I’m making things more complicated than they ought to be," Jensen says out of the blue. It’s what he’s been thinking but he hadn’t planned to say it.

"I can’t say I disagree with that," Jared replies. He’s leaning on the passenger door, head tilted back against the glass, watching Jensen with hooded eyes. They must be quite a sight, Jensen thinks, all ragged and cold and covered in red mud.

"So, you know I made a lot of mistakes before I came back here."

Jared nods.

"I was in a relationship, and it ended badly."

"Sorry to hear that."

"It was my fault," Jensen clarifies.

"You don’t say."

That’s more sarcasm than Jared’s prone to. Jensen figures he must be more pissed than he’s let on over being jerked around.

"I cheated," Jensen says.

Jared straightens and stares at him, his expression unusually blank, before barking out a bitter laugh, loud and fast like a gunshot.

"That’s it?" Jared says. "You cheated on your ex and now we can’t fuck without a Congressional Order or something?"

"I messed up pretty bad," Jensen explains. "More than once."

Jared shakes his head; he looks out over the barren field and back toward the herd waiting impatiently for their feed. Finally, he looks back at Jensen with something like exasperated affection.

"You know, when you shut this place down," he finally says, "I think I’ll go to New York."

Jensen goes along easily with the change in topic. "New York, huh?"

"Yep. I haven’t lived there yet."

"You can check it off your list, then." Another city, another brand new start for Jared Padalecki. It doesn’t feel like news.

"It’s not that complicated," Jared says. "Nobody’s talking forever, but we’re here now and I don’t see what’s wrong with making the most of it."

Just a few more months, Jensen thinks. By the time summer rolls around they’ll be out of each other’s lives for good.

"The fact that you screwed around before doesn’t make a damn bit of difference now," Jared says.

Jensen nods his response and thinks, _it matters to me_. They sit in silence for a while. The herd’s getting agitated and they’ll need to finish up before long. It’s cold as hell, anyway.

"What are you running from, Jared?" Jensen asks. He figures it’s a fair question, considering.

Jared bites his bottom lip and peers out the window before pulling the handle.

"We should unload the feed now," he says as he steps out of the truck. "The natives are getting restless."

________

"I showed up to this one audition like twenty minutes late and so sweaty and disgusting the girl at the desk literally pinched her nose to avoid my stench," Jared says.

"I take it you didn’t get the part?"

"I didn’t even get past reception."

It’s been a day since their conversation in the truck; things seem to have settled between them but no progress has been made. They’re hanging out in the den after supper, nursing a couple of beers and making idle conversation since there’s nothing on TV. It feels like it used to, before things got awkward. Jensen could listen to Jared talk all night and since Jared’s equally pleased by the sound of his own voice it works out well. He’s been regaling Jensen with stories of his time in Los Angeles, where it seems he mostly waited tables and failed miserably at auditions.

"And why did you walk into an audition like that?" Jensen asks.

"I was pretty wasted, I guess," Jared says. "It was July and I walked like three miles to get there, so the sweatiness was kind of a given."

"You went to an audition drunk?" Jensen tries to square the information with what he knows of Jared. He’s not the world’s most attentive employee but he’s pretty responsible, definitely not that flighty. Of course, he was much younger then.

Jared pauses and for a second looks a little lost. He rubs his big open hands over his thighs like he’s scrubbing something off his palms.

"High. Must have been speed then, I think."

"I can’t imagine you on speed."

"It’s not pretty, I can promise you that," Jared replies. "I can’t believe I walked that far in L.A. I’m pretty sure my car was impounded at the time. But that’s another story."

Jensen doesn’t let him change the subject. "So, you used?"

"Yeah, I guess that’s the thing." Jared presses his hands together, twists his fingers into knots, and stares down at them. "I mean, you were right," he says. "About me. I never thought of it that way, but when you asked before, what I was running from? That’s a big part of it. Back then, it was just a little pot, a little speed, whatever was around."

"Back then?"

"Yeah," Jared says. "There was harder stuff later. Umm, coke. You know."

What was it Chris had said about Jared? _He ran into some trouble a few years back but he's pulled his shit together_.

"You’re not using anymore." Jensen doesn’t insult Jared by posing it as a question.

"No. Not for a while."

"I’ve known a couple of addicts," Jensen tells him. "Not that well, but I know getting clean isn’t easy."

"Staying clean’s harder."

"What made you decide to quit?"

"It got decided for me." Jared shifts in his chair and gnaws his lip before continuing. "Listen, I know I talk a lot and if I let my mouth go, I’ll probably end up telling you plenty of details I’ll regret later. But you laid a lot of stuff out on the line to me, not just yesterday but before, about coming back here. I could tell it wasn’t easy for you. You deserve something in return."

"If you don’t want to-" Jensen starts, but Jared cuts him off.

"I do. I thought we were getting somewhere, when I came back and then out in the truck, but then you asked what I’m running from and I avoided the question. If that’s the hold up to this thing," Jared waves a hand between them, "then I want to tell you."

"It’s not," Jensen assures him. "The hold-up’s all on me. You don’t owe me a damn thing."

"I think I do." Jared ducks his head to stare at his big feet. "I just don’t know how to start."

"You used," Jensen prompts. "Take it from there. I don’t need the gory details."

"Okay." Jared raises his head to look Jensen in the eye before he continues. His voice is clipped and monotone, like he’s reading off a list. "I started partying in L.A., got in with a bunch of users. I left, mostly to avoid temptation, but it usually caught up with me. I’d substitute one drug for another and tell myself it was okay as long as it was recreational. Eventually, I slacked off, got sloppy. I went on a coke bender. I mean, binging was kind of my thing anyway. I wasn't really a day to day user, but this went on for weeks. I was tending bar in Chicago. That’s when things got really stupid."

Jared pauses for breath and looks away, his gaze riveted to an old Miller family photo on the wall. Jensen just watches and waits. He doesn’t know if he’s ever listened to anybody before like he’s listening to Jared now. It feels important, like he’ll be the one who messes up if he doesn’t do it right.

After a silence that feels more drawn out than it probably is, Jared pulls his attention back to Jensen and continues in the same bland tone. "I got hooked in with a dealer who was pretty connected. I, um, I started dealing out of the bar. It was easy money, easy drugs."

Jensen’s surprised at that. Using is one thing, dealing another altogether, and it doesn’t fit what he knows of Jared.

"I guess I was only dealing for like a month or two," Jared continues, his expression shuttered. "I was so strung out, it’s kind of a haze."

"You didn’t decide to quit on your own?" Jensen asks when silence threatens again.

Jared looks perplexed.

"You said it was decided for you," Jensen reminds him.

"Oh, yeah. Well, I got caught. Detoxed in prison." Jared says it almost dismissively.

"Shit, Jared. How long were you in?"

"It ended up being less than ninety days, wasn’t too bad other than the withdrawal," Jared says with a shrug. "I had to stay in Illinois on parole for a while, but that didn’t last long."

"That’s good, I guess."

"I was lucky," Jared agrees. "I hadn’t been holding much and it was a first offense. I guess they had bigger fish to fry."

Jensen has no practical experience with that world, but every show or movie he’s seen points to dire consequences for anyone who crosses the guys in charge. "Did you get in trouble with the people who ran the drugs?" He asks.

"No. I never gave them up," Jared says. "I mean, I was worried there for a while that they thought I had but that was just paranoia."

"So that’s not why you move around a lot?"

Jared looks confused, then understanding dawns and he smiles. "Oh, no. God, no," he says. "I’m not worried about drug dealers coming after me." Jared laughs at the thought, genuine and full-throated. Jensen’s glad to hear it even as he fights a flush of embarrassment.

"I guess that’s up there with my super spy history."

"No. Sorry," Jared says. "I didn’t mean to laugh at you. I was definitely small time. You were right, though. I was running."

"How so?" Jensen asks.

"I didn’t quit ‘the right way’," Jared says, finger quoting the words. "I didn’t go to meetings or rehab. I’ve just white knuckled my way through it and made up my own rules as I went along. I moved around some anyway, but even more after Chicago. When I get bored, or meet somebody who might tempt me to use, I just leave. New town, new job, new everything. It might be six months, a year, whatever, I just start over. It’s a distraction."

"That doesn’t seem like the easiest path to sobriety," Jensen says, though it does suit the Jared he knows – high-strung and restless, seemingly allergic to putting down roots.

"Believe me, I frequently get an earful of that same sentiment from my parents," Jared says. "They didn’t see enough of me when I was using to figure out what was going on so when I ended up doing time, it was a shock."

"Must be hard on them."

Jared nods. "They didn’t do anything wrong, you know? They raised me right. Fucking up was all on me. I think they feel better now that I’m living close to family. Jeannie and Chris, my aunt and uncle, they all keep an eye on me and report back, not that I blame them. But my mom’s still set on me getting professional help. She packed a bunch of Narcotics Anonymous brochures in my bag before I left."

"May be worth a shot," Jensen says.

"I’m thinking about it. I tell my family I’m fine and I think that’s true," Jared says as he shifts into a more comfortable position. "But until you brought it up, I wasn’t even aware I was running from anything instead of facing it. I got that it was a distraction but that was just how I coped, you know? It’s worked for almost three years. I didn’t think it was a problem."

"It might not be," Jensen points out. The tension between them seems to ease and he finds himself relaxing against the couch. "I’m definitely not one to talk when it comes to questionable coping mechanisms, or mistakes that can’t be blamed on anybody but myself."

"Well, you shouldn’t beat yourself up over them like you do," Jared says. "There’s always somebody who’s done worse."

Jensen shakes his head. "I doubt either of us is worse than the other."

"That’s so sweet." Jared takes a long draw off his beer. Obviously, giving up alcohol doesn't factor into his self-made rehab program. "You should put it on a Hallmark card."

"I’d make a killing in Valentine’s Day sales."

They share a soft, easy laugh. Jared sighs and sets down his bottle on the side table. "The other night, you said you needed to have control."

"Yes," Jensen replies. "I really do."

"Maybe I could stand to loosen this white-knuckle grip I’ve got going, coast for a while."

Jared's voice is pitched low in a slow, lazy drawl. It sounds like an invitation, and Jensen immediately warms to it. His dick takes notice, too, and he fights the urge to adjust himself. Jared’s gaze flickers down to Jensen’s crotch and he smirks, but when he gets up from his chair to walk over it’s obvious he’s likewise afflicted.

Jensen doesn't move as Jared stands over him, leans down and looms in close. Jensen drops his head back against the cushions and looks up expectantly, lips parted, eyes wide. It’s easy to forget, day-to-day, how damn big Jared is, but it’s hard to think of anything else from this angle.

This is pure temptation, Jared’s strength and size. It would be so easy, even for Jensen, to submit to it. Jensen sets his expression into a determined challenge: I only _look_ vulnerable, he thinks. Jared’s quick, instinctive understanding is clear, obvious in his hitched breath and the easy quirk of his lips.

Jared has one final point to make though, or maybe the night’s revelations have worn him down. "I guess I’ll call it a night, boss," he says in a soft exhale against Jensen’s cheek. "I’m plumb tuckered out." He scoops up the beer bottles and lets them dangle by their necks in one big hand as he turns to leave.

"Cock tease," Jensen says after him.

"Damn, look who’s talkin’," Jared calls back as he heads out the door.

________

The next morning, Jensen wakes up happy. It takes him a minute to get a fix on the emotion, but that’s what it is. He’s up before the alarm, so he takes a quick trip to the bathroom and returns to bed. He cocoons himself in the big down comforter, savoring its warmth and his own pleasant drowsiness. It’s unexpected, this feeling, like everything's going to be all right.

Jensen thought he had already managed to shut down the misery and shame that chased him out of Dallas, but the rigid self-denial of the past year was a far cry from what he’s feeling now. The weight of his regret seems somehow lifted, its release an almost physical sensation. There’s plenty of reason to credit Jared – he’s been a breath of fresh air, funny, interesting, gorgeous. He laid his past bare to Jensen, trusted him enough to give him that. Mostly, it’s just been good to make a friend.

Jensen’s cock stirs at the thought of Jared, of his big easy grin and his big hard body. He brings his hand down to stroke himself leisurely as images of Jared and the things they’ll do play in his mind. The thoughts are certainly more than friendly and it’s not long before he comes with an easy, quiet sigh. He wipes the come off his hand and stomach with the edge of the sheet, disables the alarm, and rolls over to catch some more shuteye.

He’s awakened a while later by the aroma of freshly brewing coffee. Jensen washes up quickly, brushes his teeth, and rakes his fingers through sleep-mussed hair with little effect. He pulls on an old pair of faded jeans and a blue Henley before stumbling barefoot to the kitchen.

Jared’s pouring himself a bowl of cereal and waiting for the toast to finish; he gives Jensen a once over and a smile. "I take it you’re not coming with me this morning," he says, holding out an empty mug.

"Nah." Jensen takes the mug and pours his first cup of the day. "I’m taking the morning off."

"Must be nice," Jared grins.

"What can I say? It’s good to be king."

Neither of them is much for conversation first thing in the morning. They sit over their simple breakfast without much to say, but their gazes catch and hold for long stretches of time until they smile stupidly at each other and glance away. When Jared finishes up and carries the dishes to the sink, Jensen leans back in his chair to watch him, feels that hot surge and burn of _want_ he’s come to associate with Jared.

Jensen finds he’s suddenly out of patience. He’s gone without for far too long and why? Because he felt sick and dirty, because his chosen penance involved living like a monk, and finally because this intense pull of desire he feels for Jared has made him fearful of giving in to his own worst impulses.

But Jensen woke up happy and anxious – if not altogether ready – to move on, and that’s what he intends to do. Besides, he’s the boss. He stands up from his straight back chair and turns it so it’s facing outward, the back of it pressed against the edge of the dining room table.

"Come here," he says.

Jared turns toward him, brow furrowed.

Jensen motions to the chair. "Sit."

A slow smile of understanding curves Jared’s lips as he takes his seat. He slouches back in the chair, crosses his arms, and looks up at Jensen with a heady mix of expectation and amusement.

Jensen steps closer and curls a hand over Jared’s forearm, lightly pulling it away from his chest.

"Keep your arms at your sides for now," he says. Jared drops them obediently.

Jared’s wearing a flannel shirt and Jensen reaches down to undo the buttons, taking his time to work them loose. When Jared opens his mouth, Jensen shushes him with a shake of his head and the press of his finger to Jared’s lips to emphasize the point.

Once the shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a snug black wife-beater underneath, Jensen pushes it back as far as he can. "Take it off," he commands.

Jared doesn’t take his eyes off Jensen as he leans forward to slide out of the shirt. His tank showcases broad, built shoulders and thick muscular arms. Jensen swallows hard and drops his gaze to take in the growing bulge that strains Jared’s loose jeans.

He steps in closer and widens his stance. Jared seems to get the message and moves his legs closer together so Jensen can straddle him. It’s a little awkward, given Jared’s size, so Jensen places his hands on Jared’s shoulders and lowers himself slowly, sinks down onto Jared’s thighs and drags himself forward until he’s settled in tight, his cock pressed against Jared’s, both men hard and hot through two layers of denim. Jensen squirms to work himself into position and sets his bare feet down flat on either side of the chair. He pushes in, creating an almost painful friction, and rolls his hips in a slow, deliberate movement.

Jared fingers the edge of Jensen’s shirt, like he’s going to pull it up, but Jensen stills him.

"No," he says. "I’m running the show."

Jared returns his hands to his sides with a nod of his head and a drawled, "Yes, sir."

Jared bucks his hips and Jensen pulls up, just a little then drops back down, grinding in hard and close. He leans in to press his mouth against the curve of Jared’s ear and whispers, low and rough, "Don’t move."

A shiver runs through Jared’s body. God, the man’s built like a brick shithouse, so hard and big under Jensen’s weight, giving himself over like he’s desperate for it.

Jensen nuzzles into the space just below Jared’s ear, inhaling his morning-clean scent. He drags his stubbled cheek down Jared’s smooth one to his neck. Jared lets his head drop back, and Jensen presses his parted lips against his pulse, darts his tongue out to trace the vein.

"You know, that wasn’t nice," Jensen murmurs against Jared’s hot skin. "The way you left me last night. Hard. Wanting."

The breath that hitches in Jared's throat is stuck somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Served you right," he says.

"Maybe so," Jensen concedes. "But I’ve come twice since then, alone, my hand around my dick." He rubs himself against Jared. "Thinking of you." He nips Jared’s chin. "And doesn’t that just sound like a terrible waste?"

Jared raises his hands to cup Jensen’s ass. Jensen considers pushing them away, but it feels so good he pushes back into them instead then pumps his hips forward. There’s a stuttering gasp from Jared as he tries to rock up into the motion.

"Still," Jensen reminds him.

Jared settles under him, only his hands moving slightly as they tense on Jensen’s ass.

Jensen rolls his hips back, pushes down, and repeats the motion, grinding against Jared, slowly, deliberately. He trails one hand down Jared’s long torso and releases the button of his jeans. Jared’s dick pushes against his fly and Jensen knows well how uncomfortable it is, but he doesn’t pull it down to grant any relief. Instead, he slips his hand under the hem of Jared’s tight wife-beater. A couple of gentle, calming strokes at his waistline, and he moves his hand up, palm flat against Jared’s body, until he reaches a nipple. Jensen gently tweaks and rolls it between his fingers, pinching lightly. He brings his other hand up to cradle the back of Jared’s head, raking his fingers through baby-soft hair.

He sucks open mouthed kisses along Jared's neck, but he pauses to raise his head and look down at him. Their breath is loud, hot and heavy between them. Jensen feels the rush of too much want flooding his body all at once. He slides his hand down from Jared’s chest, slips it from underneath his shirt and reaches around to grip the back of the chair before grinding down, harder and faster, relishing the raw ache of dry friction as his own painfully hard cock strains against his jeans.

"Hurts," Jared moans, but Jensen knows he can take it. There’s a fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead; he strains forward for a kiss, but Jensen pulls away, drops his head and shoulders back and uses the leverage to grind down even harder. This is no sweet and easy slide. He wants to feel the burn. Jared gasps out a half-choked laugh and bows his head to watch where Jensen slams their bodies together.

Jensen’s on the edge of coming, his balls and cock strain and pull with it; his body shakes with the effort to hold off, just a few minutes longer, that’s all he needs, to do this right.

"Gonna come," Jared says. "Please."

Jensen smiles, pushes forward, watching Jared, still and waiting beneath him. He leans in, puts his face to Jared’s, close, so close, but stops shy of pressing their lips together.

"You gonna come for me?" He breathes against Jared’s moist, open mouth. "You gonna come in your pants?"

"Yes," Jared says.

"Like some horny teenager, without even a hand on your big, hard cock?" Jensen taunts.

"Can’t help it. Jensen, please," Jared begs.

"So hot," Jensen says. "So good for me, Jared."

Jensen draws back as far as he can without losing his place on Jared’s lap, drops his hand to Jared’s zipper, and jerks it down in a fast, rough motion. He pushes Jared’s jeans down as far as he can and works Jared free of his briefs. Jared’s cock curves up toward his stomach, red and tight, the sheen of pre-come moistening its tip.

"I’m not going to make you come in your pants, Jared," he says. "I want to see it."

Jared’s so close to the edge, he seems incapable of speech, but he’s looking at Jensen like he’s the only man in the whole damn world with an answer that matters. His body shakes with barely contained power. Jensen looks him in the eye, thinks, _I’ve got you, give over, baby, just for me_. He gives himself barely a moment to enjoy the feeling of Jared so completely at his mercy, knowing neither of them will last much longer.

Jensen draws Jared’s shirt up to his chest, baring his washboard stomach. He takes Jared’s cock in hand, moans at the feel of it, big, hot and tight in his grip, and works it with quick, heavy strokes. Jared bucks up against him and Jensen doesn’t try to still him now, rolls with it instead.

Jared works at Jensen’s jeans, jerks the fly open with clumsy fingers even as his cock tenses and jerks in Jensen’s hand and he comes with a gasped, shuddering breath. Jensen frees his cock and pushes forward to rub against Jared’s sticky stomach and softening cock. He comes with a low moan against Jared’s lips.

There’s a moment of stillness in the aftermath, the world a silent, waiting thing around them. They fill it with the sound of hot, ragged breathing as they come down. Jensen looks Jared in the eye, holds that gaze, feels their heartbeats slow in time with one another. He traces his index finger through their mixed come, warm and sticky on Jared’s belly, feels Jared’s quick inhaled breath in the jerk and flex of his hard abs.

Jensen’s plan, such as it is, is to lick the come off his finger in a slow drawn out tease. But he’s distracted by Jared’s pink, open lips, so he rubs his finger along them instead, spreading come onto them like thick sticky gloss, before placing his finger on Jared’s tongue. It’s fucking obscene, how spent and vulnerable Jared looks, lips glistening, half-lidded gaze focused on Jensen’s mouth while he purses his lips and sucks his finger. Something primal and deep in Jensen pulls tight.

Finally, he pulls his finger away and leans in to trace his tongue over Jared’s lips, tastes the bitter, salty tang of them, takes his time to make sure he gets it all. He licks into Jared’s slack mouth and kisses him deeply, pouring all the heat and want of the past month into it. Jared wraps his arms around Jensen’s waist and returns the kiss with fervor, rolling his tongue against Jensen’s, giving himself over completely.

They’re sticky and sated. Jensen has to anchor himself in place with his hands on the table at either side of Jared’s shoulders. All the heat and energy of sex seems to dissipate and everything narrows to the tingling warmth of their lips, the rolling wet suction of their tongues.

The chair creaks beneath them and Jensen finally breaks away with a gasp. He pulls himself up and steps back, tucks himself back into his jeans and peers down at Jared, who slouches back lazily, spent cock still out over his drawn down jeans.

"That’ll do for a start," Jensen says. He’s going for cool and collected. Based on Jared’s shit-eating grin, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t pull it off.

"I gotta say, boss," Jared says as he rises from the chair and adjusts himself, wiping off his stomach with the discarded flannel shirt. "If that’s what comes from your control issues, I don’t imagine I’m going to have too many complaints."

Jensen can think of a few replies to that, ranging from earnest to vulgar, but he settles for a devil-grin and a quick, friendly kiss to Jared’s mouth before sending him to work.

________

It’s New Year’s Eve, an occasion that’s managed to sneak up on Jensen despite plenty of warning. He spent last New Year’s watching the ball drop on CNN, drinking alone, and wallowing in regret. It turned out to be a fairly accurate harbinger of the year to come. But that year has passed and Jensen figures he ought to be grateful for it, or at least grateful that he can fully appreciate its end.

He and Jared ring in this New Year together, even manage to track down a bottle of wine for the occasion. They spend most of the night necking on the couch like a couple of teenagers, taking their time like they don’t know what it means to hurry.

Anderson Cooper is on TV again, red-faced and giggling in a way that’s probably unbecoming for a man in his position, but Jensen barely notices. By the time midnight rolls around, he’s far too distracted by Jared’s skilled mouth on his cock, hot and wet, taking him deep. Jared gives a spectacular blowjob, and when Jensen comes with a low drawn out moan, pressed back against the cushions of his couch, he thinks this year is already showing considerable signs of improvement.

 

 **  
_three_   
**

January falls hard, bringing with it flat gray skies that settle in for days and stretch so far Jared claims he can’t remember what blue looks like. Jensen yearns for the warmth of the sun on his face, for any day not as cold and inhospitable as the ninth circle of hell. It seems he’ll have to wait.

First it sleets, and the bridge freezes over, then it snows, and the truck spins out in the slush and the mud. The wind stirs and picks up speed, catches snow in its path and lifts it from the ground to whip around like it’s got no more weight than powder. The icy flakes feel like tiny shards of glass against the skin, and Jensen is more and more reluctant to go out in it.

Most days, Jared tends the herd on his own but Jensen helps when there’s a problem. After one too many trips into the muddy banks of the creek to pull out some stuck heifer, or maybe it’s one too many dry rope burns he could avoid if he’d just wear his goddamn gloves like he should, Jensen’s so pissed he makes the calls necessary to arrange for sale of the cattle. It’s disappointing to find it’ll be another month before he can unload them all and he slams the phone down so hard it bounces back up off its cradle.

"Damn, you’re one ornery fucker when you’re riled," Jared says. Jensen turns to him and asks what bad country song he stole that line from.

Jared holds up his hands in surrender and retires to his room for the rest of that particular afternoon, muttering something about being the next victim of the purge.

But that’s just the weather. Jensen’s got other things to occupy his time and he’s not in the habit of chasing Jared away. He prefers to keep him close, within touching distance if possible.

And Jared, well, Jared is definitely the touchy-feely type. He brushes against Jensen when there’s no need, casually reaches out a hand to stroke Jensen’s arm or to palm his ass. Jensen has always preferred the kind of touch that leads directly to sex, but he finds himself leaning in to Jared’s casual displays of affection, even those that don’t lead to the bedroom.

They sometimes sit together on the couch for hours, watching television or not, just necking and…cuddling. It’s ridiculous, sure, but Jensen discovers that curling into Jared’s warm body is like burrowing into an electric blanket. It might be his new favorite thing.

He’s always been the obsessive type – work, sex, the relentless drive to prove himself somehow. If Jensen is obsessed with anything now, it’s simply the slow, agonizing thrill of taking his time. He lays Jared out, again and again, strips him bare, licks and kisses his way over Jared’s hot, responsive body, tracing paths that seem to go on for miles. He grinds against him, rubs their bodies together, makes him hard and denies him, makes him beg, then brings him off, fast and hard, slow and easy.

The afternoon after his cattle-selling meltdown, Jensen's in the driveway, working under the hood of the rickety old work truck they use to haul the feed. It hasn't run right since the last time they pushed it out of the mud down by the creek. Jensen's not much of a mechanic; he spends most of his time tightening connectors and checking wires, then cursing when nothing good comes of it.

Jared returns from replacing some fence posts in the north pasture, looking twice as big as usual in the giant winter coat his mama gave him for Christmas, and slightly ridiculous to boot. But he looks a damn sight warmer than Jensen, who's hunched against the wind in only his thick coveralls and a worn old coat that belonged to his grandfather.

Jared walks up, gives his customary ass-pat in greeting and hovers behind Jensen. He peers down at the engine for a good minute or two before Jensen looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Can I help you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"All the jobs you've had," Jensen remarks, "and mechanic isn't on your resume."

"I know, right?"

Fucker, Jensen thinks. Cheerfully sarcastic fucker. He's both amused and annoyed, a combined response Jared seems uniquely capable of inspiring. Jensen turns his attention back to the truck as Jared walks around to lean against it.

"So, come February, this place is going to be a ranch without any cattle," he says.

"I’ll keep Delilah a while, I guess," Jensen replies. He’s surprised by it himself, but he’ll miss the old girl once she’s gone.

Jared nods. "Not much use for a ranch hand if you don’t have a herd."

"You have other uses."

It’s meant as a joke, and Jared smiles, but it's obviously forced. "Yeah, but I don’t feel comfortable being paid for those particular services," he says.

Jensen pulls back and lowers the hood. It's probably about time to admit defeat anyway.

"I didn’t mean it like that."

"I know." Jared straightens up off the truck and shrugs. "Still. You could take care of this place without me as it is, but with everything coming to a close so soon…" He trails off and starts again. "You really don’t need me here, Jensen."

 _I do need you_ , Jensen thinks. He doesn’t say it.

"I’ve got something to show you," he says instead. He taps the hood of the truck lightly with his fist and heads to the house with Jared close behind. They shrug off their coats and shoes in the mud room and walk down the hall, back to the pull-down string that hangs from the ceiling. Jensen yanks it to lower the rickety wooden steps and climbs up, gesturing for Jared to follow.

At the top, Jensen pulls the chain that's attached to the sole bare yellow light bulb and illuminates the attic, which runs the entire length of the house. It’s shadowed, but obviously cluttered, full to the brim with boxes and trunks, some furniture, framed paintings and photographs that lean against the walls, their glass faces clouded with grime. Jensen coughs against the dust.

Jared whistles. "There sure is a lot of junk up here."

"There’s more where this came from," Jensen replies. "In the cellar and out in the storage shed. We never had the heart or the time to get rid of it after my grandparents died."

"And now?" Jared asks. By his tone, he knows the answer.

"I’m not going to have a choice," Jensen says. "I really do need your help to get it ready for auction."

"I figured I’d be doing that in addition to the regular ranch work."

"Well, we’ve still got those bastards out there to feed and keep from killing themselves until at least February," Jensen reminds him. "But my grandfather held onto everything. Sorting it out’s a full time job."

"You sure this isn’t just busy work?"

"I do want to keep you around for fun," Jensen says with a grin. "But I need you on this, too."

Jared exhales a genuine laugh. "You could make better use of your fun time, too."

"I don’t know. That seems to be going all right to me," Jensen says, all false modesty.

"Better than all right, but you know, I wouldn’t say no to a good, hard fuck." Jared pulls Jensen to him, kisses him sweet. "Just so we’re clear."

"Yeah, I think I got that the last hundred times you made it clear."

"But?"

"You're a big boy, Jared. There's a lot of you to explore, and I'm taking my time." Jensen reaches between them to palm Jared's erection through his jeans. "I enjoy taking my time."

Jared watches him closely, like he’s trying to decipher something. He seems reassured by what he sees because he smiles again, big and slow, and the teasing tone returns to his voice.

"Well, it’s like I always say," he drawls. "You’re the boss."

"Glad we’re clear on that."

________

Jared starts going to Dumas once a week for the Narcotics Anonymous meeting that’s held in the Rec Center’s basement. He says he doesn’t know if he’s getting anything out of it except that some of the stories he hears there make him feel better about his own situation. But he keeps going back, so Jensen thinks maybe it’s doing him some good. Jensen drives out with him to pick up groceries and run whatever other errands he has in town until Jared’s done.

They usually head out to _The Keyhole_ afterward to shoot pool. They invite Chris, but Jeannie’s pregnancy is far enough along that he doesn’t want to risk being away from her.

Jared kicks Jensen’s ass just about every time they play. Jensen doesn’t mind. It’s fun to watch him stalk the table, twirling the cue like he’s the twenty-first century’s answer to Fast Eddie, usually hitting it against a wall or knocking over whatever bottles are in its path, until the bartender shoots him a glare. Jared charms his way out of any trouble and Jensen enjoys the show. The night usually ends with Jared slinging an arm around Jensen’s shoulders to pull him in close. But not too close. It’s still not that kind of bar.

________

The study Jensen's been anticipating finally comes through and shows the ranch to be perfectly suited for a much larger, industrial wind farm operation. Sometime between opening the email attachment and forwarding a copy to Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jensen decides to pursue the wind business full bore. It isn’t necessarily booming, and the industry as a whole isn’t without its flaws, but there’s money to be made around the margins and Jensen thinks he can present a good case for his own place at the table.

Jensen’s ready for that now, ready to be back in the thick of things, doing what he does best. It’s not because the time for introspection is done, or because he’s lonely. He’s not. But he’s a business man, not a rancher, and the idea that maybe he can do something worthwhile instead of going straight back to big oil holds a lot of appeal.

Many of the other land owners in the area are against big wind farms on principle, and over the years they’ve managed to exclude them from their small pocket of the Texas panhandle. They have legitimate concerns about the noise level and birds that fly into the turbines, not to mention the sheer bulk of the things. There are places nearby where hundreds upon hundreds of wind turbines stretch for miles like enormous tin soldiers staking their place in a field of battle. They’re a genuine eyesore to some but Jensen finds a kind of beauty in their stark efficiency.

If Morgan wants to expand business in the area beyond Jensen’s few hundred acres, he’ll need help from a local to pitch the idea to the more open-minded, and money-motivated, among the community. Jensen figures that’s all the leverage he needs and prepares to meet the man in person.

The meeting is set for the first week of February. Jensen pulls a couple of designer suits from the back of his closet and prepares for a two-night stay in Lubbock. Jared will keep an eye on the ranch and has plans to start sorting through the stuff in the attic. They say their goodbyes after breakfast with a "call me when you get there" and a soft, quick kiss for luck.

Jensen's slamming down the hood of the trunk on his grandfather's old El Dorado later in the morning when he decides on impulse that their earlier goodbye was insufficient. He spotted Jared pulling up the driveway a little after ten. If he's keeping to his routine, he's already had a quick shower and settled in for a nap before lunch. The image is hard to resist and Jensen can't think of any good reason to try.

He lets himself into Jared's room to find him sprawled out on his back, starfish style, dead to the world. Only Jared could make the king size mattress look so inadequate. His arms and the top of his broad chest are bared as well as his feet, which peek out from under an old quilt. This sleeping beauty definitely snores like a beast and Jensen rolls his eyes at the sound as he toes off his shoes and walks to the foot of the bed.

They don't sleep together often. Sometimes, they fall asleep wrapped up in one another, on the couch or in one of their beds, but they each like their own space. Sprawling, snoring Jared might just drive Jensen to violence if he had to sleep next to him every night. And Jared’s happy to retire to his room most of the time, assuming he has the energy once Jensen’s had his way.

As Jared tells it, he slept through more than one tornado warning when he was a kid, even slept through it when his dad hauled him out into a storm and down to the cellar when he was eight. He still sleeps hard, so Jensen isn't too concerned with waking him when he skims his hand over Jared's foot, skirts it underneath the quilt and up his leg. Jensen lifts the quilt and gently folds it to the side as he massages his way up Jared's calves to his thighs. He sends up a quick prayer of gratitude when he sees that Jared didn't bother with briefs.

He can only get so far from where he's standing so he drops a knee on the mattress to focus on the long slow climb up Jared's warm body. Jared sniffs and moves his head but even the added weight doesn't disturb his sleep. It's only when Jensen climbs onto the bed to position himself over Jared in a crawl that Jared finally wakes with a start.

"What?" Jared sits up quickly and runs a hand over bleary eyes.

Jensen throws him a grin and a cheesy wink before lowering his head to plant a kiss on the dimple just above Jared’s knee.

"Jensen? I thought you'd be gone already." The effects of sleep make Jared's low Texas drawl drip slow like honey.

"I was on my way out." Jensen traces a path up Jared's inner thigh with his tongue, finds a promising patch of skin and gently sucks, murmurs against him, "Decided to make a quick detour."

"But…"

"You're going to fight me on this?" Jensen asks.

"Well, when you put it like that." Jared falls back on the pillow and folds his arms behind his head. "Have your way with me if you insist."

"Such a noble sacrifice." Jensen pushes the quilt off the bed and continues his exploration of the newly claimed flesh on Jared's inner thigh, pink and warm from his mouth. He rolls his tongue over it, soft and gentle, then bites and sucks again. Jared gasps and bucks up, but Jensen pushes his hips down flat.

"You've got a real fetish for holding me down," Jared grumbles. Jensen gives him a hard little nip for that then blows warm, soothing breath over his skin.

Jared's cock curves toward his belly, big and hard. He's so gorgeous like this, miles of toned muscle and smooth, tanned skin contrasted against white cotton sheets. Jensen considers stripping down and going for something more thorough but reluctantly dismisses the thought. He figures he can give Jared a little something to remember him by and be out the door in less than ten minutes. It's not the most romantic gesture, but quick and dirty has its advantages.

Jensen slides forward and presses his mouth to Jared's balls, sucks them in gently, tonguing and humming. Jared moans in pleasure and spreads his legs farther apart.

Rising to his knees, Jensen spits on his own palm and licks a long line up his fingers. It may be a little porny, but Jensen's got no problem with that. Jared seems to approve, moans in response, and reaches down to touch himself. Jensen pushes Jared's hand away with a shake of his head.

"Bossy," Jared grinds out.

Jensen curls his spit-wet hand around Jared's cock, loves the hot and easy glide when he starts to work it. He's not gentle and Jared twists and writhes beneath him, fisting the pillow behind his head.

"That's how you like me, isn't it?" Jensen says. "Bossy. The dirtier, the better. Love my hand on your cock, want my mouth on it."

Jared's answering moan is all the yes Jensen needs. He lowers himself to swirl his tongue over the head of Jared's cock, presses it hard against the slit, picking up the taste of his own spit and Jared's pre-come. Jensen smiles and runs his tongue along the shaft, makes his way up to the tip and back down again with small licks and long strokes. He cups Jared's balls, rolls them in his fingers and gives them a gentle squeeze, then licks his way up again before finally sucking Jared into his mouth. He works the head in slow, shallow motions, tracing the ridge with his tongue, enjoying the size and weight.

Jensen curls his hand at the base of Jared's cock and works it hard while he swallows him deeper. He’s good at this, always has been, but he still has to remember to breathe, to relax his jaw and his throat so he can take more. He presses his tongue along the shaft as he moves and moans when he feels Jared's cock hit the back of his throat. His mouth fills with spit that escapes to run down his chin, sloppy and wet.

Jared's body is vibrating beneath him; Jensen can only feel the tremors, can only breathe in the scent of sleep and sex. He pulls back, lowers his head and swallows again, fast, greedy.

"I’m gonna to come," Jared manages to warn. Jensen peers up at him through moist lashes and doesn't pull away. He knows how he must look – debauched, red-faced and needy, his full, wet lips sealed around Jared's cock. "I’m gonna come in your mouth."

Jensen blinks, manages a slight nod. There's no more warning as Jared goes rigid and comes hard, his loud groan filling the room. Jensen works his throat to take it all, swallows it down and pulls back to tongue Jared's softening cock. Jared reaches for him, a clumsy jerky movement, like he's going to pull Jensen up over his body but doesn't quite have the strength to accomplish it.

It makes Jensen feel pretty smug and he chuckles as he runs the back of his hand across his mouth and chin. He steadies himself on hands and knees and makes his way up Jared, kissing the tip of his nose before dropping down in a boneless sprawl.

"Your turn," Jared says, reaching for the bulge in Jensen's pants.

"No, I'm fine," Jensen lies. He grabs Jared's hand to lace their fingers together as he resists the urge to squirm against him, his body automatically seeking the friction.

Jared laughs. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Jensen assures him. "This was for you."

"Well, thank you very much, Mr. Ackles." Jared looks at Jensen with an open, happy grin. His nose crinkles with his smile; his eyes are big and bright. "The pleasure was definitely mine."

When Jared pushes himself up to capture Jensen's mouth with his, Jensen relaxes onto it for a long, lazy kiss. This is the kind of thing that can go on far too long and Jensen pulls himself away while he still can, dips his face into the crook of Jared's neck and rests there for a minute while he gathers the strength to leave. Jared wraps his arms around Jensen, one of his typically enthusiastic bear hugs, and Jensen laughs, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye.

There's something like wonder in Jared's expression. His gaze roams over Jensen's face and he pushes out a breath that Jensen feels rise up from deep in his chest.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Jared says. Jensen's heard that line before, has hated it on occasion, but hearing it from Jared, all low and sincere, causes a hitch in his chest. Jensen licks his lips and considers diving back for seconds, but he musters up all the will he can to shake the moment off.

"So, you enjoyed that?" He doesn't try to hide his smirk.

"Self-satisfied, bossy, and arrogant," Jared says with a laugh. "And the bitch of it is that you earned every bit of it."

Jensen quirks a brow. "You haven't answered my question."

"Yes," Jared says. "Yes, I enjoyed it very much."

"Good." Jensen musters the energy to push himself off Jared and roll out of bed. "It's going to have to tide you over for a couple of days."

"I'll miss you, baby," Jared says as he stretches his arms over his head and rolls his neck. "But I think my hand still works."

"No," Jensen says, throwing Jared his best _I mean business_ glare as he slips on his shoes and straightens his clothes. "You don't get to touch yourself until I say. And don't call me baby."

"Oh, come on."

"You better mind me, Jared." Jensen's tone is as serious as he can manage.

Jared props himself on his elbows. A wicked grin chases his pout. "Will you punish me if I don't?"

"I might punish you either way," Jensen tells him. "I mean it, Jared. No touching. You don't get to come until I get back."

"Does this rule work both ways?"

"No. Chances are I'll be jerking off in the car before I get out of the driveway," Jensen answers bluntly and with no hint of apology.

"Not fair."

"Life's not fair." Jensen bends over to drop a kiss to Jared's forehead, to his mouth, brushes Jared's hair back from his face in a now-familiar motion. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

Before Jensen can turn to leave, Jared reaches up and pulls him in for one last lingering kiss.

"Have a good trip, you bossy son of a bitch."

"I'll call you later," Jensen promises.

"Don't even think about phone sex," Jared calls after him. "I won't be able to take it."

________

The first words out of Jeffrey Dean Morgan's mouth when Jensen meets him are, "Call me Jeff." Still, Jensen can't help but think of him as _JeffreyDeanMorgan_. It takes a conscious effort on his part not to say it altogether like that when he's speaking to the man directly.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan is a good looking man, and an interesting one. He's a little older, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a sometimes hang-dog expression that transforms easily into an open, mischievous smile. He's got a deep whiskey voice, dropped low and slow in a long Texas drawl. After their first long afternoon of negotiations, he takes Jensen out to 'this great little place' he knows where they serve southern style home cooking, including the best damn steak in Lubbock, and over a hundred different kinds of beer. The waiter seats them at a quiet booth in a low-lit back corner and they ask for bourbon instead.

They place their orders, steak for both and red wine for the table once the bourbon's gone. Then Jeffrey Dean Morgan gets right down to business.

"We didn't have a chance earlier, but there's something we need to address before we get down to the nitty-gritty of this deal in the morning," he says.

"What's that?"

"I know the trouble you ran into at OCOA."

Jensen nods, throws back a mouthful of bourbon, and sets the glass down with a thud.

"What do you know?"

Jeff’s relaxed – arm slung casually along the back of the booth – but he watches Jensen closely. "Samantha Ferris is a friend of mine."

Only the person who caught him in the single most humiliating moment of his life, then, Jensen thinks. Great.

"I see," he says slowly. "And she told you…?"

"That she caught you with your dick up some guy in the office, you got a slap on the wrist for it, then you turned tail and ran."

Jensen finds himself eased by Jeff's matter-of-fact tone. "That's an interesting take on it."

"Is there a different one?"

"Not really," Jensen admits. "Though I wouldn't say I turned tail and ran so much as I'd become a liability to myself and others."

The waiter returns with the wine; Jeff tests it and nods his approval. He continues to swirl it in the glass after the waiter leaves, his big, rough hand at odds with the delicate crystal and his own perfectly manicured nails. Jensen finishes off his bourbon in one long draw and reaches for the bottle to pour a glass.

"She said you weren't fired."

"That's true. I was suspended, but I knew they'd probably take me back if I waited it out." Jensen decides on a generic version of the truth. "I had a lot of personal stuff going on at the time. It was good for me to get away from Dallas for a while."

"She says they still miss you there. Told me I'd be as stupid as she's always suspected if I wasted the chance to bring you on board."

Jensen’s surprised. "That's nice of her. I thought she hated me."

The fine lines around Jeff’s eyes deepen with his smile and Jensen's brought up again by just how handsome the man is.

"Samantha doesn't do nice. She does honest."

"And what else does she do?" Jensen teases, relaxing into the conversation.

"That's none of your damn business, boy," Jeff says with a wink.

If there's such a thing as _kiss and tell_ without the _tell_ , Jeffrey Dean Morgan just accomplished it and Jensen responds with a laugh.

"Well, I guess that answers one question," he says, shaking his head.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"What team you're on. I had a running bet with a friend of mine, based on your picture on the website." It hadn’t been a bet so much as a running joke between him and Jared, who’d taken one look at Jeff’s picture and commented on his obvious ‘daddy’ appeal.

Jeff's laugh is big and booms like thunder, drawing the notice of half the restaurant. He throws his head back and claps his hands together before returning his attention to Jensen.

"I’ll take your curiosity as the compliment it clearly is," he says. "Though I'd think my four ex-wives might give you a good idea of my orientation."

If a good looking man, gay or not, is up for a little harmless flirting, Jensen's not one to say no. "I'm told sexual orientation is fluid."

Jeff slaps his hand on the table. "I'll let you know if the current ever flows in your direction."

Jensen raises his glass to that. "Please do."

The waiter returns with their food. When he walks away and Jeff gestures toward him as if to indicate that he might be on Jensen's team, Jensen shakes his head. Jeff's not wrong. The waiter is definitely on his team, and he's easy on the eyes, but Jensen couldn't be less interested.

"Listen," Jeff says as they dig into their meal. "I didn't bring up what happened before at OCOA to make you uncomfortable."

"I realize that."

"This business is my baby. I take it very personally, and I need to know that if the chips are down, you'll stick with me."

Jensen nods. "You can count on me."

"Good. Enough said." Jeff brings the matter to a close with a broad grin and a raised glass, which Jensen meets with his own.

They go quiet while they attack the steaks with single-minded focus before Jeff speaks again.

"So, you're single?"

"No," Jensen answers without thinking. "I mean, I'm with somebody but we haven't known each other long. It's temporary."

Jeff waves a dismissive hand. "It's been my experience that most relationships are."

"Four ex-wives, huh?"

"Yeah, just the four," Jeff answers with a grin. "Three wasn't a charm, and four turned out to be more than my heart could handle."

"Marriage isn't an issue in my case."

"Not in Texas, it isn't."

Jensen shrugs. "I doubt I'd be the type, anyway."

"Right. You go for temporary."

"Tried permanent," Jensen admits. "Didn't do too well with it."

"And Mr. Temporary?"

"I’m sorry?"

"The current somebody who isn't permanent," Jeff clarifies with an air of _are you simple, boy?_ "How's that going?"

"Oh, I don't know." Jensen’s reluctant to answer. He’s not in the habit of sharing his personal business with anyone but Jared, and even that’s a recent development.

"Humor me," Jeff says. "I watched wife number four get remarried last weekend and I'm feeling maudlin about love."

"Love?" Jensen repeats. "I don't know about that. We're having a good time."

Jeff only nods and they finish the meal in silence. After a while, he pushes back his empty plate and pours another glass of wine. "So, how'd you manage to meet another gay guy way out in the country?" He asks.

"We're not confined to major metropolitan areas anymore."

"Fine. Go on."

"What can I say? He showed up at my place. Moved in three days later."

That earns a raised eyebrow. Jensen doesn't elaborate.

"You gays do know how to move things along."

It's said with too much good humor for Jensen to take offense. He nods instead, thinks about Jared, and smiles. "It's been good," he says. "We’re having a good time. I like him a lot."

"I can tell."

"You can?"

"Oh, yeah. And you seem a little down about the word temporary. You sure that’s what it is?"

"Pretty sure." Jensen doesn't want to think about what an open book he's become, decides to blame it on the bourbon and the big meal, maybe the easy company. "He doesn't like to stay in one place for long, not that I’d ask him. I have a bad track record."

Jeff leans in, his gaze more intense than Jensen’s seen it. "Don't let a bad track record hold you back, man," he says before falling back into the booth seat to resume his casual fuck-all pose. "If I did that, I'd have missed out on wife number four and she was a hell of a good time."

________

The next two days at JDM, Inc. involve lawyers on both sides, hours of negotiations, and finally a partnering agreement that seems to make everyone happy. Jensen agrees to sign over the ranch property to secure his investment. His insistence on keeping the house and the plot of land it sits on is a sticking point, but he wins out in the end. JDM, Inc. gets nearly four-hundred acres of prime wind farm real estate, and Jensen Ackles keeps the family home.

He doesn't intend to live there, Jensen's clear about that. He's moving back to Dallas in the summer to pursue the next step, using his contacts in the industry to bring in new business. Big oil likes to play around with clean energy and claim it for good PR, and nobody knows better than Jensen how to play that game.

It's almost eight o'clock when everything is finalized and the drive from Lubbock to the ranch takes over three hours. Jensen should probably accept Jeff’s offer to meet him and the other partners for some celebratory drinks before returning to the hotel to crash for an extra night. Truth is, he's anxious to see Jared. He doesn't think twice before turning them down, only shrugs in response to Jeff’s knowing look, and sets out for the drive home.

His mind is going a mile a minute, filled with plans – calls to make, various installations needed on the property, his move to Dallas. Jensen Ackles is back in business, and it feels as if a part of his brain that's been dormant for over a year is coming back to life. The buzz is electric.

Still, it isn't enough to keep his mind off Jared. Maybe it's the adrenaline rush of a business deal gone good. Maybe it's the fact that when he left Jared the other day Jensen was still sporting a hard on that could bend steel. Hell, maybe he just misses Jared's fucking dimples, that crazy smile that takes over his whole face, his full-body laugh that gets Jensen going like nothing else.  
Whatever the reason, Jensen's horny as hell. It's pretty much all he can do to keep the speed under eighty on the way home, and that's just because he doesn't want to waste the time it would take for an officer to write up a speeding ticket.

It's well past ten when Jensen stops in Dumas to fill up the tank and take a piss. There are just a few miles between him and the ranch, but most of them are down gravel roads that need to be taken slow. He knows what he wants when he gets there; as he pulls out of the station, Jensen puts his cell on speaker to dial the house.

Jared answers on the second ring and doesn't bother with hello. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, I'm about thirty minutes out."

"Good. See you then."

Jensen barks out his name to stall him hanging up. "Jared."

"Yeah?"

Jensen grips the wheel and pitches his voice low.

"Get yourself ready for me."

There's silence from the other end of the line. If Jared needs further instruction, Jensen's willing to give it, but it doesn’t prove necessary.

"Sure thing, boss," Jared says, the words dragged out and ragged. "I'll be ready."

Jensen pulls up to the house thirty minutes later and lets himself in through the mud room. Jared's nowhere to be seen but lights are on throughout parts of the house – kitchen, hallway, bedroom – like a well-lit path to guide him in. He hears the shower running from the master bathroom and starts to work loose the buttons of his dress shirt. The water is shut off as he walks into the bedroom, and the bathroom door swings open before Jensen can reach it. Jared steps out, still wet and flushed from the steamed heat, wrapped in a towel he grips loosely in one hand.

"You're back," he says with a broad grin. "I was hoping to be finished before you got here, meet you at the door in my birthday suit."

"It's a nice suit." Jensen leers with intent and stalks Jared as he peels off his shirt. He lets his gaze roam over Jared's body, doesn't give a fuck about the water that's dripping onto the carpet, just wants to lick him dry, doesn't want to take the time.

"I did what you said." Maybe it's still just the heat of the shower but Jensen thinks he sees a blush steal across Jared's chest, up his shoulders to his neck. "I'm ready."

"Yeah, you work yourself open for me in the shower, Jared?"

Jared nods and swallows hard. "I did."

"How'd that go?" Jensen steps forward to finger the towel at Jared's waist.

"Umm. Fine, I guess?"

Jensen watches a single drop of water fall from Jared's hair, hit his shoulder and make its way down his chest in a long slide. He gives into impulse and leans in to lick it, sucking the water onto his tongue with a moan. Jared's breath hitches and he lets the towel drop; it glides through Jensen's hand and onto the floor as Jared reaches out to undo the button of Jensen's slacks and unzips his fly.

"I want to know." Jensen jerks his pants down, along with his briefs and his socks, and works them off, moves in close to Jared to soak up the hot, humid bulk of him. The thought of Jared in the shower, pushing his fingers into himself, is motivation Jensen absolutely does not need. But he wants to know so bad he can taste it.

"God, Jensen." Jared leans in to claim a kiss, but Jensen pulls back to look him in the eye, licks his lips, and leans in to whisper close.

"How many fingers?"

Jared huffs out a breath, half laugh, half groan. "Three."

"Yeah? I'm impressed."

"Mmm. I was thinking about how big and thick your cock is," Jared says. "How good it's going to feel inside."

"You slicked up for me?"

"Yes." There's a tremor in Jared's voice and his cock presses hard against Jensen's stomach; he's strung out and ready for it, and Jensen is done holding back, doesn’t think he’s even capable anymore. He curls a hand around Jared's nape and pulls him in to press their lips together in a soft, open kiss, sucking Jared's tongue into his mouth. He walks him to the bed and drops him to his back to stand over him.

"Been thinking about this," he murmurs. He runs his hands along Jared's thighs, pushing them apart as he lays down over him. "Haven't been able to think of anything else but how good it's going to feel."

"Fuck me." Jared draws up one leg to wrap around Jensen, high on his waist.

There's a part of Jensen that thinks of taking this slow, regrets even in the moment that they're both so hungry and desperate that it can only go fast and hard. It's been so long since he's buried himself in somebody, and this is so much more than that. This is Jared. But it's too late for slow this time. Hell, he’s just grateful they both got tested last month at the clinic in Dumas so he doesn’t have to mess with a condom.

Jensen anchors himself over Jared, propped on one arm, and positions his cock against Jared’s hole to push in. There’s a moment when he tries in vain to slow it down, but Jared's so ready, there's only the slightest resistance when Jensen breaches the strong ring of muscle, then he's inside, pushing in smooth and fast, practically pulled in by the slick heat. He bottoms out in one long, steady motion and Jared throws his head back with a loud moan.

Jensen reaches between them to stroke one hand over Jared's hard cock, dips in closer and feels it push up against his stomach as he uses every ounce of self-control to still himself, giving Jared time to adjust.

"Come on," Jared growls out. "I can take it."

Jensen smiles at him, drops down over him like a blanket and kisses him, pulls back and pumps in, fast and hard, deep.

"Yes, there. That's it," Jared pants out.

Jensen stills for a drawn out moment before rolling his hips and pulling back, then rocking in to hit that spot again.

They don't last long. Jared goes rigid beneath him, wraps his arms around Jensen tight when he comes, his breath heavy and erratic against Jensen’s skin. Jensen nips at the warm flesh of Jared's shoulder, right at the tender curve of his neck. He feels the pulse there as his body tenses, his balls pulling in tight, and comes with reflexive movements, thrusting hard.

Afterward, Jensen doesn't move right away, falls there in a heap over Jared instead, presses his mouth against Jared's in a closed-mouth kiss, almost chaste, before licking his way inside. It's like stepping off a roller coaster, the punch-drunk feeling of coming back down to earth from the most exhilarating high. Jensen smiles against Jared's lips, pulls away to gaze down at him, and lets his expression tell the story of how good he feels, how happy. Jared grins back and slaps his ass in a lazy movement before resting his hand there to hold Jensen close.

It feels like a good, long while before Jensen pulls out and moves to his side with an exhausted sigh. When Jared rolls out of bed, Jensen thinks he may be walking out the door, but he heads to the bathroom to clean up instead.

"I'm staying here tonight," Jared calls over his shoulder. "And no bitching about how I take up the whole bed and snore like a fucking cow. After the pounding I just took, you owe me."

Jensen's more than happy for Jared to stay, so he just takes the opportunity to slide under the covers and flop into his usual position on his stomach. Jared keeps the bathroom light on and walks back to bed to get in behind him. He flings one arm over Jensen's back and Jensen shifts into the loose embrace, stroking one lazy finger over Jared's hand.

He looks across the room for the first time and sees a couple of big cardboard boxes on the floor by the dresser. One of them is open and pinwheels overflow the top. Dozens of little multi-colored, plastic pinwheels.

"Oh, my God," Jensen says, exhaling a surprised laugh. "Where did you find those?"

Jared hums a sigh against his neck. "They were in the attic. There's more, too. Must be hundreds."

"I can't believe he kept them. Well, I guess I can."

"I take it there's a story there?"

Memories flow through Jensen in a warm, pleasant rush – Grandpa Miller taking all of them, his grandchildren plus his great-nieces and nephews, to the feed store when they were kids. They sold pinwheels for a nickel each by the register and he'd buy them all a new one each time they went. When they returned home, he allowed the kids to plant them in the yard, little wheels of color all pretty in a row. There must have been a dozen or more in the yard at any given time, spinning away in the near-constant breeze that blows across the ridge. Grandma went out to clear them away periodically, muttering about kids' toys ruining her yard.

"Not much of one," Jensen says. "Just my grandfather."

Jared gives him a light squeeze. "I found them tonight, in the attic," he says. "Moved them in here after you called because I didn't have time to drag them to the barn."

"I'm glad you did."

"You're kind of sentimental, you know that, Ackles?"

"Must be old age."

Jared drops a kiss to his shoulder and huffs a warm breath to the back of his neck. "Feel pretty spry to me, old man."

________

Things get busy, fast, and life picks up more speed than Jensen likes to consider. Jared's left with almost all the work around the ranch; even after they unload forty head of cattle later that month, he's got a lot on his hands. The remainder of the herd is rotated closer to the house which makes things a little easier, but the weather rarely gives them a break. Winter snow and ice gives way to cold rain and tornado warnings that luckily don't amount to much.

Jensen spends most of his time on business. A crew arrives to ready the property for the wind farm it will support. Aside from setting up his own place, he has some selling to do to other land owners in the area. He figures Chris is his easiest bet and starts with him. Chris's farm is doing well, but he's concerned about providing for his growing family; the extra money he can bring in from leasing land to JDM is a temptation. Jared helps bring Jeannie around to the idea. The woman is indeed formidable, especially so in her third trimester, but Jared has a way with her. Jensen teases him about being the woman behind the man who made it happen. He gets a swat on the ass and a hickey on his neck for that one.

When Jim Beaver shows up to talk business and commits to twenty turbines on his land, Jensen knows he's in. Nobody in the area garners more respect than Jim. Not only will others follow his lead, but any concerns that remain about zoning and permits can pretty much be swept away under his influence. When Jensen asks what brought him around, Jim answers money, but as he's leaving, he admits there's more to it.

"I was in considerable debt when I started my farm," he tells Jensen. "Your grandparents were good to me. Your grandfather was one of the best men I ever met."

"He was that," Jensen agrees.

"I didn't always think you had it in you to follow in his footsteps. You're a different kind of man, but I see a lot of your grandfather in you these days."

Jensen fights an unexpected wave of emotion. God, he really is becoming a sentimental fool. "Thank you, sir."

Jim pats him on the shoulder, swallows a cough that sounds like it might be the result of some sentimentality as well. "I trust you to treat us right with this deal, son."

"You have my word," Jensen says and means it. As much as he wants to turn a profit, and as excited as he is about returning to Dallas with a win under his belt, he finds himself equally concerned with taking care of the locals. They're his grandparents' people, so they're his people, too.

________

They fall into a routine over the weeks and months. Jensen finds he's suited to life with Jared. It's not without the occasional bump in the road, but they enjoy each other's company. His only other relationship was with Paul and it always seemed there were rules to getting it right, even before he fucked it all to hell. It's easier with Jared. Jensen wonders if that's helped by the fact that there's no one around to tempt him and a built-in expiration date that keeps Jared from getting restless. Mostly, he's enjoying himself too much to worry about it.

Jensen's able to sell off the rest of the herd in late March. Even Delilah is sold off to Chris and Jeannie. It's good, Jared says, that she's going to family.

As much of a relief as it is to be done with the ranching part of the ranch, it makes Jensen hyperaware that things will soon come to a close. The auction's set for the first week of June; when it’s done, he's heading to Dallas and a downtown high-rise condo that's already signed for, sight unseen.

Jared starts talking about his plans for New York; or as much planning as Jared does, anyway. A guy he knew in Las Vegas who moved to Brooklyn a year or so ago has offered Jared a place to stay. Jared figures he'll take the guy up on it and worry about the rest when he gets there. Jensen manages to smile when Jared says, "Gotta give New York a try, right? At least once."

He doesn't think of asking him to stay, not really. Jared moves on – it's just what he does – and Jensen's got a bad fucking track record. He's not like Jeff; the idea of trying and failing again, with ‘wife’ number two, three, or four, isn’t for him. Maybe he only had one serious relationship in him, and he blew it up good. It's best to keep this thing temporary and end it well, rather than carrying on too long and going through that again.

________

Late spring brings beautiful blue skies and golden-brown and green grass that sways in the breeze. Sometimes the wind stirs up hard, but it doesn't bother Jensen like it used to. There's a profit in it now, maybe that's what takes the sting out. As he stands on the porch, smoking his evening cigarette and watching the sun set over the thriving land, he thinks maybe Grandpa Miller was right about the view.

Jared joins him, walks up behind, and pulls him back into a loose embrace. Jensen leans into it and they watch together.

"That never stops being beautiful, does it?"

Jensen _hmms_ a lazy response and grinds out his cigarette as Jared nuzzles his neck.

"You know, I just realized today that it's May," Jared says.

"For three days straight."

"Funny how that works," Jared says, all _aw, shucks_. "Jeannie and Chris have a May Day baby, and the auction's in less than a month."

Less than a month. Jensen hadn't thought of that. Suddenly, he feels the deadline closing in too fast.

"You still leaving for your parents' the day after?" He asks, mostly to have something to say.

"That's the plan. First San Antone for a couple of weeks, then New York City."

Jensen turns in Jared's arms, pulls himself up to the balls of his feet, and lands a light kiss somewhere near the side of Jared's mouth before drawing him in for a closer embrace. The only thing he can think to do is make the most of the time they have left. Letting go feels like the long slow pull of a loose string from a favorite shirt that unravels, inch by inch, until everything comes apart.

Sex for them started as a denial of something desperate and hungry. Over the months, it became second nature, like breathing. Now it becomes something else, something meaningful and precious in a way that Jensen can't remember ever feeling. When he took his time before, or when he sped things up, held Jared down soft and took him hard, it was about getting off, it was about how fucking hot it is to exert some measure of control over such a big man. It was what he needed to work through whatever bullshit he still had to work through.

In their last month together, they both take their time. Jensen wants to commit it to memory, find some way to never let it go. When they lose control, going at it fast and hard because they can't hold back, there's an edge to it. More often, they take it slow and easy, like an old married couple already settled in a routine that brings as much comfort as anything else.

"Just think," Jensen says one night; he's draped across Jared as sweat cools on their skin. "In a few weeks, we'll both be in a position to order take out again."

"Back to civilization." Jared sounds happy. "I think I'll gorge myself on Chinese out of the carton for a month."

"There's this great Italian place in Dallas that delivers. I may have dreamed about it once or twice."

"So, that's what you were mumbling in your sleep," Jared says. "I thought those were my spicy meatballs you were dreaming about."

Jensen groans. "Wow. That was bad."

"I know, right? I'm awesome."

Jensen looks up at Jared and graces him with an eye-roll that can't be missed, even in the dark.

"Come on, you miss my fantastic comic stylings already, admit it."

"That's one thing I won't miss," Jensen says. Maybe it's a lie.

Jared lets out a disbelieving grunt. "Well, whatever, you'll be too busy taking Dallas by storm to think of anything else."

"I'll definitely be busy," Jensen says. "It might be all I can do to remember your name, much less your spicy meatballs."

"If I believed that, my feelings might be hurt."

"Don't believe it." Jensen smiles and burrows closer, tired and lazy, already half asleep. "I'll definitely never forget."

Jared draws him in closer as they drift off to sleep.

________

As a child, Jensen often saw his grandfather writing in his journal, usually after dinner when Jensen was preoccupied with TV, but he never thought much of it. Jared finds the journals in an old trunk and brings Jensen out to the barn to go through them. There's a part of Jensen that doesn't want to pry, feels it's disrespectful to the old man. But there's an even greater part of him that's curious, and he ends up spending the better part of three days putting everything else on hold to read through them.

The Millers married young and worked hard. There was no grand moment when life became anything but a struggle, but Grandpa Miller didn't waste much space on that. He wrote instead about his love for the land. He marked his disappointment, too – when they lost their first ranch, and how he worried about having a child on the way with money so low. But he used many more words to express the joy and the hope of their life together. He worked as a hired hand for other people while Grandma Miller got a job at the grocery store in town until they saved up enough to build their home on the hill and start again. The pride he felt when he brought his wife and young daughter here fills pages.

There's some pretty god-awful poetry in there as well. Jensen can hear his grandmother's voice in his head, "Lord save us all from your grandfather and his so-called poetry." But the old man would invariably take the opportunity to loosen the knot on her apron, causing her to swat at his arm and laugh quietly, a gentle smile on her face that she saved for family.

Jensen gathers the journals and the photos, the old family china, and some of grandma's mementos to ship home to his mom. Maybe it's something they can go through together when he returns to Dallas. He thinks she'll like that.

________

Things don't get awkward until about a week before the auction, and awkward might not be the right word even then. Jensen knows he's developed a bad habit of watching Jared out of the corner of his eye then glancing away quickly when Jared looks over to catch him staring. But maybe he only imagines that Jared does the same. Conversation narrows until it's almost exclusively about the auction and the construction crew.

They save more honest communication for the bedroom, but that's different, too. Jensen can feel Jared letting go even as he rises up to meet him, kisses him earnestly and gives everything. For his own part, Jensen handles Jared's body, with hands and tongue and lips, the soft, sweaty movement of flesh on flesh, with a certain reverence. It’s amazing in a way, feels better than anything he can remember, just as he's about to let it go.

There's sadness but no regret. If Jared hadn't shown up at his doorstep, Jensen's not sure where he'd be. Maybe on day four of not talking to another living soul and drinking the numbness away at The Keyhole for want of better plans. He's glad for where he's come, happy to be returning to Dallas to face up to whatever is left to be faced. And he can't fault Jared for going to New York. That's who Jared is and it's what he needs. If Jensen has been half as good for Jared as Jared’s been for him, that’s an accomplishment he’s as proud of as anything.

________

Jensen wakes up early on the morning of the auction and rolls out from under Jared's heavy arm as quietly as he can. It's going to be a busy day, and he wants Jared to sleep in as long as possible. The man worked late into the night to finish the set-up, sending Jensen off to bed at midnight with an irritated growl, "I've got this, Ackles."

Coffee and a toasted English Muffin, a half hour or so at the computer to answer emails, and Jensen's as ready as he's going to be for the long day ahead. Jeffrey Dean Morgan's coming in. It's a good opportunity for him to check on the turbines and meet some of his new clients in the area. That'll be enough to keep Jensen hopping all day, as if the auction itself wasn't enough.

Jensen steps onto the porch, holding a hand over his eyes to shield them from the light of the sunrise reflecting off the tin barn. It takes a moment to adjust; when he does, he stops short and laughs in surprise.

Planted in the yard, just like when he was a kid, are pinwheels. There are at least a couple of hundred and the light catches on them, all the faded colors of the rainbow. They spin in the breeze with a low, pleasant hum. Jensen walks out, stands in the middle of this new plastic garden, and takes it in, feeling the full force of his youth and everything he's leaving behind.

"Damn it, Jensen. I wanted to be with you when you first saw it."

He looks up at the sound of Jared's voice to find him watching through tired, puffy eyes. He’s dressed in low-slung sweat pants and nothing else but bedhead and a big grin.

"I should have guessed you didn't stay up that late to do anything like real work," Jensen says with a laugh.

Jared steps off the porch to join him, crossing his arms over his chest to stave off the chill. "The auction's gonna go off without a hitch. Don't you worry about that."

Jensen makes his way around the maze of pinwheels to stand closer. "I'm not worried." He curls a hand around Jared's nape and pulls him down gently for a kiss, laughing into it. "I can't believe you did this. It's amazing."

"You can't believe I did something amazing?" Jared pulls Jensen in close, maybe for warmth as much as anything.

"That I can believe," Jensen assures him, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. He scratches his fingers through Jared's hair. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, let's get going before everybody shows up and catches us making out in a field of pinwheels, 'cause that's just about the gayest thing I've ever heard."

________

Jim Beaver laughs for a good two minutes when he sees the yard, pats Jared on the back, and tells Jensen that Grandma Miller would have been fit to be tied. Jensen laughs with him, happy to share the memory.

It's not long before the cars start lining up, neighbors and people from surrounding counties coming in to pick through everything and test out the equipment before the bidding starts. Jeff shows up and Jensen introduces him around, letting the man work his charm on a few of the hold-outs.

When Jeff meets Jared, he looks over to Jensen with raised eyebrows and an exaggerated thumbs up. Jensen just shakes his head when Jared gives Jeff a similar silent seal of approval. It's a good thing they don't have time to join forces against him.

The auction is a success. Jensen pulls in about as much as expected. He's happier about the profit that Chris and Jeannie take in for the old combine they brought over to include in the sell. Jeannie's out for the first time since the birth of their daughter, Gemma, and the infant girl is right at home among the crowd. Jared dotes on her, running back and forth from the auction to the porch where she spends much of the day asleep in her mother's arms. It's sweet to see and Jensen finds himself wondering if Jared might miss her enough to return to Texas more often in the future.

Night's falling by the time everybody leaves. Jeff’s their last guest and Jensen offers him a room for the night, but he quirks a brow at that, cuts his gaze to Jared, and says he's got a room in Dumas.

Jeff extends a hand to Jared. "I hear you're heading to New York soon."

"Yes," Jared says. "I’m looking forward to it."

Jeff holds the handshake as he searches Jared's eyes. "Good," he says just before the moment goes on too long for comfort. "I hope it works out for you."

He turns to Jensen with a mock salute as he steps back toward his car. "Talk to you tomorrow, Jensen."

"See you then."

________

They say their goodbyes late into the night, in murmured words and long, slow kisses. Both are bone tired and it slows them down, but it doesn't stop them from making the most of their last night together. Their gazes lock and hold as Jensen takes Jared one last time, pushing into him, bodies pressed in close as he rides him slow. Normally, they roll over and go to sleep right after. This time, they stay pressed together in silence, kissing deep and wet, neither willing to let go until the early pre-dawn hours when they drift to sleep in each other's arms.

Jared rises early, after only a couple of hours' sleep. "I've gotta get the last of my stuff together," he murmurs in Jensen's ear before slipping out of the room. Jensen rolls over and falls back to sleep for a while. He hunts Jared down as soon as he's awake to find him loading the truck with the last of his things.

"You coming back in for breakfast before you leave?"

Jared's turned away, facing the truck with his head bowed; he takes a minute to answer.

"No, I'd better be on my way. I’ll get something on the road."

"Come back in for a while." Jensen places a hand on Jared's arm, maybe to pull him in, anchor him close. Maybe to steady himself. "You have plenty of time."

Jared turns to him, big fake smile plastered on his face. "I really need to get on the road, boss."

Jensen nods and tries to school his features into something calm and easy. "Yeah, I understand. When you gotta go, you gotta go."

"It's a skill."

Jensen nods, looks around, thinks _this is where we met, next to this ugly truck_ , and pushes Jared up against it, kissing him hard. Jared melts into it, pulling Jensen in and holding him close. They break the kiss to pull each other tight, ending it with a big, bone-crushing bear hug and a choked, "Take care."

When Jared drives away, Jensen stands for a good five minutes watching the dust stir up under the wheels of his truck; it hangs in the air for a while before settling back down into the road. He heads into the house to start his day alone.

 

 **  
_four_   
**

Jensen’s return to Dallas feels a lot like going from zero to sixty in under four seconds. Between the move and work and reconnecting with his family, there’s not much time to take a breath, much less sleep or have anything akin to a social life.

The city is overwhelming at first, too loud and too crowded. But it's not long before it feels like home again, before he feels its electricity seeping back into his veins. Jensen enjoys being able to walk out of his modern high-rise directly into the noisy bustle of the city. He likes walking down sidewalks full of people in a hurry, going to coffee shops and bookstores, and, yes, having food delivered right to his door. He doesn’t even mind the traffic.

Given the circumstances surrounding his departure, calls to old colleagues could be awkward. Jeff eases the situation by flying in to join Jensen and Samantha Ferris for an informal lunch meeting to kick-start possible negotiations with OCOA. In Jeff's easy style, they don't talk much business. It's clear Samantha has his number, but she goes along with the chit-chat, flirting with Jeff and taking the opportunity to tease Jensen as much as possible.

They're a few drinks in before she gleefully recounts her last encounter with Jensen, "and his condom." Jensen plays along with a tight smile, immediately raising his empty glass and catching the server's eye, figuring if this doesn’t call for considerably more alcohol, nothing does. Not that he can fault her. If he were in Samantha's shoes, he’d be dining out on that story for years.

It turns out to be worth the cringing embarrassment and the cost of the extra cocktails when she agrees to schedule a high-level meeting for him at OCOA. Jensen leaves the lunch with a pleasant buzz, a wry grin, and facing the real possibility that he's about to have a huge win with the company he left under truly humiliating circumstances.

Mackenzie lives in the city now, and he spends more time with her than he has since they were kids. They meet at the coffee shop across from his building a couple of times a week and Jensen marvels at how easy it is to see her as the successful woman she's become rather than the bratty little sister of his memories.

She goes with him to Richardson to help their mother sort through the stuff from the ranch. Mom gets weepy over it and holds Jensen tight in a rare show of emotion. "Thanks for taking care of the ranch and sorting everything," she says. "I don't know if I ever could have faced it."

The relationship with his father is strained, but Jensen finds he’s more patient than he used to be with the man's outdated views, more willing to wait him out and do his part to mend fences. It's slow-going, and he’s too busy to devote enough time to it, but there’s progress, and maybe that's all he can ask.

Jensen returns to the ranch every few weeks to ensure things are running smoothly. When he stays overnight, he crashes at a hotel in Dumas, never the house. It's closed up tight, cleared of furniture, utilities shut down. A cleaning service shows up once a month to dust and check for mildew or termite damage. Jensen can't even bear to open the door, much less spend any time there. Maybe it would have been better to have it demolished instead of leaving it as an empty shell for reasons he doesn’t really want to face.

Jensen does manage at least one good home-cooked meal at Jim Beaver's house with almost every trip home, but he avoids Chris and Jeannie.

________

There's a barista at the coffee shop with a badge pinned to his apron that says "Hi, My Name is Greg!" Greg has dark blue highlights and a silver hoop lip ring; Jensen thinks he may be a little too old for that but it's kind of hot, and he's still in graduate school, so maybe he gets a pass. They flirt some and Mac thinks Jensen should definitely "hit that."

"That's creepy as hell coming from you, thanks," Jensen tells her, but all signs point to an easy yes so he asks Greg if he'd like to go to the opening of the Dalí exhibit. Greg's ‘yes’ is maybe a little eager, but Jensen figures that was the point of asking him in the first place, so he smiles and offers to pick him up like a real, old-fashioned date.

It's nice. Greg is nice. He's in his mid-twenties, which seems younger to Jensen than it used to, but the exhibit is a good icebreaker and they don't lack for conversation. Jensen drives him home and ends the night with a chaste kiss. Date number two is a walk through the park to a little outdoor café Greg likes. It ends with a better, sloppier kiss and a clear invitation from Greg for more. Jensen says he's ‘not that kind of girl’ and leaves feeling good about his restraint.

After the third date, dinner and a movie, Jensen brings Greg home to his spacious high-rise condo with its floor-to-ceiling windows and panoramic view of the city. He works all his best moves and has Greg naked and flat on his back in less than thirty minutes. There's nothing unappealing about the situation. Greg is cute and interesting and a good time between the sheets. Jensen offers to drive him home afterward rather than asking him to stay. If Greg's a little disappointed, he doesn't make a big deal of it. He calls a cab instead and lets Jensen walk him to the elevator.

Jensen returns alone and turns out the lights. He stands at the window to watch the full moon rise, big and bright over the urban skyline, presses his forehead against the glass, and wonders what Jared’s doing.

________

When he sees Greg at the coffee shop later in the week, Jensen pulls him aside to say he's not up for anything serious, but he hopes they can be friends. It doesn't come as a surprise to the other man, who takes it with good grace but is honest enough to say, "We weren't really friends to begin with, I don't see why we should start now," and offers Jensen a cup of his usual plain black coffee, on the house.

There's no single moment of revelation when Jensen thinks, _I shouldn't have let Jared go_ , but it occurs to him more and more. It’s what he thinks when he hears a bad pun or orders take-out, when he finds himself memorizing trivial little facts from the History Channel and hears Jared's voice inside his head, ‘Thank you for the history lesson, Encyclopedia Brown.’

When he goes back to the ranch, to the hundreds of turbines that rotate in the wind like pinwheels, planted there through his own efforts, and avoids the home he loves like it's a haunted thing, he thinks of Jared – milking Delilah, bottle-feeding Beulah's calf, laughing with (and at) Jensen for a hundred different reasons, large and small.

One day, this low, uneasy throb of loss will fade; people let go and move on all the time. Jensen has almost convinced himself of that when he walks into his apartment after a long day and flips through his mail to find a postcard that's been forwarded from the ranch.

The front is tacky and colorful, with blocky swooping letters that proclaim: Greetings from Brooklyn! His fingers tremble, just a little, as he turns it over to read.

> Hi Boss. Told you I'd check in so...I'm working the door at a club. City's great. I spend a lot of time walking around. Doesn't feel like home the way the ranch did. Sometimes wish you were here to see it with me.
> 
> Love, Jared

It's like a punch to the gut, but Jensen's not sure he could pinpoint one reason why. Just seeing Jared's handwriting, taking up half the postcard and spilling over into the address block, getting a sense, no matter how small, of what Jared's life is like. _Love, Jared_. That's just how people sign things, a general term of endearment. And they had that, didn't they?

He reads it two more times before he notices that the postmark is over three weeks old. There's no return address, but Jensen doesn't need one really. It would be easy enough to call Jared's cell, but he can’t imagine how awkward a phone conversation that might be, or what he'd want out of it.

Jensen places the postcard in the nightstand next to his bed over a picture he printed off his computer not long ago. In it, he and Jared stand together; Jared's arm is flung casually around Jensen's shoulders while Jensen leans against him, his hand resting on Jared's chest. They're smiling big and stupid, like they don't even know it's time to let go, with a field of pinwheels all around them.

________

Jensen has several meetings the next morning, all in anticipation of closing the OCOA deal. Lately, he spends so much time with lawyers and their endless contracts he almost misses the cows. They're at a critical stage in the negotiations that demands a lot of time and attention; Jeff's shown a lot of trust by leaving it in Jensen's hands.

He's scrolling through his Blackberry for messages and wondering if he should butter up Welling with a golf game later in the week when he sees the elevator doors start to close ahead of him. He rushes through in a sprint, calling out, "Hold that, please."

Jensen looks up to thank the person who held the door only to have the words die on his lips when he sees who it is.

"Paul."

"Jensen?"

Isn't that just perfect? Jensen moves to the corner of the elevator that will put the most distance between them and turns to face the doors. It's been almost two years.

"What are you doing here?" Paul asks. His voice is strained, and he studiously watches the numbers tick down as the elevator descends.

"Meeting. I'm working a deal with OCOA. Clean energy now." Jensen thinks he might sound a little _special_ with his choppy sentences and unfocused mumbling. He joins Paul in watching the elevator display.

"Yeah, I heard you were back in town."

"You did?"

That earns him a sideways glance. "We knew a lot of the same people for a long time, Jensen."

"That makes sense." Jensen rubs the back of his neck. "I guess I just didn't, you know…"

"You didn't think about it."

"No." The elevator moves so slowly, he wonders if it’s hand-operated or something. The display says they're at floor eleven and on the decline. Jensen finally continues half-heartedly. "So, what brings you here?"

"I had a deposition in the building."

Jensen hears a voice in his head telling him he needs to sack up and say something that means something. He thinks it might be his grandfather's, but he can't imagine the old man ever saying the words sack up, so maybe it's his own voice. Who knows, anymore? They make it to the lobby and step out of the elevator.

"It was nice seeing you again," Paul says, sounding more polite than sincere, as he turns to walk away.

Jensen rolls his eyes and walks after him. "Would you like to get some lunch?" His overloud voice echoes through the lobby and Paul looks back at him like he's grown a second head.

"Lunch?"

"Yeah, I think this building has a cafeteria. Just, you know, a bite."

Paul nods slowly, looks around and back at Jensen. "Sure, why not?"

They grab a couple of deli sandwiches and some chips and head to the outdoor courtyard. Paul nods toward the smoking area but Jensen shakes his head.

"Gave the things up," he says. "Finally."

"That's great. How'd you manage it?"

"I don't know." Jensen shrugs. "Just cut back slowly. Only threw them away for good a few months ago, right before I left the ranch."

"Still can't picture you as a rancher." Paul’s tone is teasing, but not unkind.

"There were days I couldn't either," Jensen says. "Even as I was knee deep in cow shit."

Paul looks down at his sandwich and makes a face. "Lovely."

"Sorry. I guess cow shit isn't appropriate lunch conversation."

That gets a smile, the kind that crinkles the skin around Paul's eyes, and Jensen feels a small pang of loss over what they had, how many times he's seen that smile without hard feelings or years of regret attached.

They fall into awkward silence while they eat their lunch and Jensen tries to think of what to say. After months of obsessing at the end of their relationship, he's finally returned to Dallas without sparing much thought for Paul or how a conversation between them might go. Suddenly, he's back in that place where he feels like the worst asshole in the world, so he figures maybe he'll start with that.

"I, um." Jensen stops and Paul looks at him. "When everything came out, when you found out the truth," Jensen says, finally, "I said I was sorry."

Paul nods, sets down what remains of his sandwich and settles back. His expression’s guarded, like he's not sure what Jensen's going to say next but is trying hard to be prepared for anything. There may be a flash of anger, too. Jensen can read _sorry wasn't good enough_ quite plainly in his eyes, though Paul doesn't say it.

"But it wasn't good enough," Jensen says, beating him to the punch. "I know that. It was the heat of the moment and I was trying to get my way, argue you into forgiving me."

"You weren't really sorry."

"Right." Jensen nods. "Well, I thought I was at the time, but I was just sorry I got caught."

Paul purses his lips and watches Jensen expectantly – if there's more, his expression says, he’s ready to hear it.

Jensen clears his throat. "Anyway, I thought about it a lot and I don't expect your forgiveness," he continues. "I know I'm lucky you agreed to talk to me at all. But I want you to know that I am sorry. I'm really sorry that I cheated on you. You didn't deserve that, nobody does. I was fucked up and wrong and I'm sorry."

Paul holds his gaze for a beat before looking down at the table. He works his jaw and doesn't say anything for so long Jensen's not sure if he should start timing it or just walk away. He chooses to sit there and take a taste of his medicine. Paul deserves an opportunity to give him hell if he wants to.

"I appreciate that," Paul says, finally, his voice low. "I don't think I’m ready to forgive you, or if I ever can, but I believe you. It means a lot."

Jensen nods. Forgiveness would be ideal, but Paul's more gracious than he had a right to expect.

In hopes of easing the moment, maybe even getting a laugh, Jensen asks, "So, you seeing anybody?"

It has the desired effect. Paul leans back and grins at him. "Yes, you ballsy bastard, I am seeing somebody."

"Yeah, he treating you right?"

"I think the question is if I'm treating him right." Paul balls up the sandwich wrapper on his tray as he speaks. "It might surprise you to learn I have some trust issues that are hard on a new relationship."

Jensen grimaces. "Yeah, sorry about that."

Paul waves it off. "Stop beating yourself up. I mean, don't. Go ahead and beat yourself up forever if you want to but everything that went wrong wasn't your fault."

"No?"

"From the first time you cheated on me to the end – that was all on you."

It’s almost a relief to have it verified.

"But the relationship wasn't this perfect thing we liked to pretend it was. I think I took on the project of training you to be a perfect boyfriend a little too much to heart in the beginning."

"I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"I didn't mean to, Jensen, but I changed you – or the relationship did, I guess." Paul narrows his eyes, clearly focused on choosing his words. "I thought being boyfriends – partners – meant that we were supposed to change for each other, especially you, with your lifestyle at the time. And I think you wanted me to, or you wouldn't have gone along."

"You're right. I wouldn't have," Jensen says. "Whatever changes I made aren’t on you."

Paul leans forward and in his eyes there's sympathy Jensen didn't think he'd ever see, isn't sure he wants from Paul. It's too close to pity for comfort.

"You ditched your friends," Paul says. "You stopped going out. Some of it was work, but some of it was for fondue nights and trips to the dog park. I wish one of us would have realized it before you lost your mind and started fucking other men, but we didn't. That much is on both of us. Everything after is on you."

Jensen doesn't really buy it. He was a grown man and he could have talked it out, spent more time with his own friends, done a million things differently that didn't end in cheating. But if Paul needs to own any part of his own issues to move on, then Jensen understands that, too. "Thanks for that," he says.

When they stand to leave, Jensen knows this is it. It isn't the start of a new friendship; it very explicitly isn't forgiveness or reconciliation. It's goodbye.

"What about you," Paul says before they go their separate ways, "You with anyone or are you still spreading the love?"

Jensen gives the question serious consideration, and he realizes as he searches his heart for the answer that even though he's alone, he's not single.

"There's somebody."

"He in Dallas?"

"No, not right now. Maybe someday."

"Good luck, man," Paul says. They part with a handshake and Jensen leaves for his next meeting with a lot more than business on his mind.

________

They close the deal with OCOA a week later. It goes better than expected and Jeff's riding high. Jensen drives him to the airport in bumper to bumper traffic, a little concerned Jeff won’t make his flight back to Lubbock. Jeff doesn't seem worried.

"That deal, Jensen?" He crows. "That's early retirement. In the Bahamas."

Jensen eases the car into the next lane and shoots Jeff a doubtful look. "I don't know about all that."

"You're going to see a huge commission off this, man." Jeff pats his knee. "Couldn't have done it without you."

"It felt good." Jensen can hear the monotone of his voice, the contrast of his own low grade excitement compared to Jeff's.

"Came back, kicked ass," Jeff says. "It's gotta feel amazing."

"That it does."

"You'd make a terrible actor, boy." Jeff shakes his head. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

The highway’s like a parking lot. Jensen rolls his neck and slouches in his seat, taps out a beat with his fingers on the steering wheel. "What? Nothing. I'm great. I'm looking at millionaire great, right?"

"Now who’s getting ahead of himself?" Jeff asks. "But, yeah, I think you're looking at millions, maybe not tomorrow but you'll get there if you stick with me."

"If?" Jensen makes a point of catching Jeff’s eye. "I told you I'd stick around. Nothing's changed."

"I know. I believe you." Jeff takes a greater than normal interest in the traffic around him and exhales a low chuckle before continuing. "Listen, maybe it's nothing, but I want to put this out there. If you're not happy, Jensen, we can work something else out."

"I'm fine," Jensen says, perplexed. "I just closed the deal of the century, didn't I?"

"The century, huh?"

"It's early, yet."

"Maybe, maybe," Jeff says. "I guess that's why it's a little strange that you're so fucking miserable."

"I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine," Jensen repeats. "Really."

Jeff sighs, throws his head back and laughs; he mumbles something under his breath that sounds like 'I can't believe I'm doing this'.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Jeff's voice booms in the car. "Just go after him."

"What?"

"Jared. Just go. Find him and, I don't know, _claim your man_."

Jensen laughs at that, and Jeff does too, like he can't believe he just uttered the line. But he doesn't take it back.

"It's not that easy," Jensen says.

"Why not?"

"For one thing, he's in New York and my business is in Texas, in case you hadn’t noticed."

"And I'm telling you," Jeff says, "not to worry about business."

"I said I wouldn't run out on you, and I won't." Jensen is clear on that, means it with everything he's got. But it's not even half the story, and he admits as much. "Besides, it doesn't matter. That's not how it was. Jared and I left things in a good place; it was time to move on and we did."

"You really believe that?"

"I believed it."

"'Believed,' past tense," Jeff says like he’s proven a point. "I spent one day with the two of you together and I knew better then than you do now."

"He's happy in New York."

"You heard from him?"

"Just a postcard," Jensen admits. "It came last week."

"That's why you've looked like you’re sucking on a lemon since I got here."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Nothing. I'm sorry." Jeff goes quiet and Jensen thinks he might relent, but it doesn’t hold long. "I just want to say this, okay? Then I’ll shut up about it."

"Fine. Go ahead."

"You've already fulfilled whatever obligation you had to me," Jeff says. "I'd love to work with you for as long as you want, but you don't need to be in Dallas for that. You're a partner. You can make your living from wherever you decide to hang your hat."

Traffic moves, but it's still at a crawl. Jensen looks to Jeff as he inches the car forward. "If you want to take off," Jeff continues, "Go for it. You won't be letting me down. But I'm telling you this, and I don't want to sound like your daddy or your goddamn guidance counselor, but, right now, you're letting yourself down. And you're letting him down."

"Go get my man?" Jensen mutters. It's barely even a question.

"Fuck yeah, get your man." Jeff laughs, the big, genuine laugh of his that always makes Jensen smile. Suddenly, traffic opens up and he's speeding down the highway, thinking Jeff might just make his flight after all.

________

That night, Jensen sits on the edge of his bed and rereads the postcard from Jared. He usually has the TV on, or music, anything for some background noise. But he sits in near silence, with only the distant sound of the street below for company, and reads Jared's blocky script on the postcard, again and again, like he can divine something from it if he concentrates hard enough.

He's going to call Jared; that much he decided in the car with Jeff. There was part of him that wanted to book a flight to LaGuardia and go to Jared right away, but he doesn't have an address and, despite Jeff's words, his business obligations will tie him to Dallas for at least the next week.

Jensen exchanges the postcard for his phone and stares at it a while, wondering what the hell he's going to say when Jared picks up. It seems like maybe Jared misses him, seems certain, but he wrote those words over a month ago, and that could have changed. Maybe he didn't mean it with any seriousness, didn't intend for his words to stick at Jensen like they do.

What he's fighting, more than anything, is the prospect of rejection. As soon as he figures that out, Jensen scrolls through his contacts to pull up Jared's name. He hasn't gone through as much as he has to punk out now just because Jared might turn him down.

Since they parted, Jensen’s scrolled by Jared's number on his contact list more than once or twice. This time, he hits send and listens to it ring until – fuck.

An electronic voice answers and impersonally intones, "We're sorry. The number you dialed has been disconnected. If you believe you have reached this number in error, please hang up and try again."

He knows the number's right, but he disconnects and tries again. It doesn't change the outcome. Jensen falls back on his bed and stares at the ceiling. That's a sign if he's ever come across one, and it doesn’t say "go." Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s run a red light.

________

Over the course of the next week, Jensen works fourteen hour days and thinks of ways to track down Jared. There's no lack of options, from looking up his parents' number in San Antonio to hiring a private investigator in New York, but he quickly decides his best bet is Jeannie. If he knows anything about Jared's cousin, it's that he'd best talk to her in person if he wants to gain any traction, and if Jared doesn't want to see him, she won't make any bones about giving Jensen the bad news. If that is the case, if Jared has moved on...well, Jensen's not so sure he won't hunt him down anyway.

When there’s finally a break in his schedule, Jensen takes the next flight to Amarillo and drives the hour to Dumas. It’s already dark by the time he checks into his usual drab hotel, so he calls it an early night and sleeps better than he has in a while. The next morning, he rises early, too, and heads out to the Kanes'.

Chris and Jeannie have made some obvious improvements to their farm with the extra money coming in from the turbine leases; Jensen notices a fresh coat of paint on the fences and an add-on to the barn right away. When he steps out of the rental car, Chris is already walking over to meet him.

"Fancy seeing you here." His tone is mild, as always, but vaguely accusing. They're his only clients in the area Jensen hasn't checked in on since the move.

"Sorry about that. Things have been busy."

"Guess so." Chris’s expression is hard and a little suspicious, but he shrugs as he turns toward the house. "Come on in and say hi to Jeannie."

Jeannie's no more thrilled with the disappearing act than Chris is and tells him so immediately. She also offers him a strong cup of coffee and some breakfast if he wants it. Jensen says yes to the coffee, no thanks to the breakfast, and settles down next to Chris at the small kitchen table.

Gemma's riding her mama's hip, staring at Jensen like she ought to know him from somewhere. She has Jared's eyes and Jensen finds himself smiling at her in that stupid big-grinned way people reserve for babies and pets.

"You here about the turbines?" Chris asks.

"Not unless you're having problems."

"No, everything's smooth. That's a good crew you guys hired."

Jeannie joins them. She's balancing the baby, two cups of coffee, and a bottle, and making it look easier than it should.

"Wish you'd let me help with that," Chris says.

"I've got it."

Chris rolls his eyes and slides Jensen's mug over to him. It sounds like an exchange they’ve had one or two – or a hundred – times, and Jensen knows well enough to stay out of it.

"Jensen's not here to talk about the wind leases." Jeannie sits next to Chris and adjusts Gemma in her lap to pop the bottle in her mouth.

"Sounds like my wife's got your number."

Jensen dips his head and gazes up at Jeannie through his lashes; it’s a gesture that usually gets him what he wants. "How much crow do I need to eat?"

Jeannie’s lips quirk and she shakes her head like she doesn't appreciate being amused. "I'm going to go easy on you because I already unloaded most of my artillery on Jared."

"How is he?"

"He's all right," she replies. "Still going to meetings, staying clean, if that's what you're wondering."

Jensen nods. He probably should be concerned about Jared's sobriety, but it hadn't much crossed his mind. For some reason, he just assumes Jared has that part of his life under control. It’s probably a dangerous and foolish assumption, but he's glad to know that, so far at least, it's the right one.

"I just want his number," Jensen says. "But if you could tell me why he changed it, it might give me an idea of where I stand."

Chris grins. "Damn fool got it stolen and decided to switch it out for a New York number when he replaced it."

"Christian Kane," Jeannie says, "that's my cousin you're talking about and if anybody calls him a damn fool it's going to be me."

"So the fact that he changed his number without letting me know probably answers one question." Jensen cringes at how plain the disappointment is in his own voice.

"If you mean that he didn't want to hear from you," Jeannie says, "that's where the damn fool part comes in. When he switched the phone out, he was thinking he needed a clean break. Who knows what goes on in that man's head? Of course, he regretted it almost immediately. I told him that he still had your number, and anyway, if you wanted to find him, you would."

"I do."

"It's about time." She rolls her eyes and runs a hand over Gemma's wispy hair. "Men," she tells her daughter, like she's imparting her first word of wisdom. Gemma spits out the bottle and snuggles against her.

"I can fly to New York this afternoon if you tell me where to find him."

Chris and Jeannie both stare at him, slack jawed and blank-faced, before their faces rearrange themselves into matching grins and they laugh right in his face. It's damn irritating.

Jeannie’s laughter is slow to die. "He's not in New York," she finally says. "I don't know why I thought you would know that. He left a few weeks ago, not long after the thing with the phone."

Jensen leans forward. "Where did he go?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"I've never been this sure of anything," Jensen says. "Tell me where he is and I'll go to him. I don't care if he's in Alaska or the Great Barrier Reef. "

Chris stands and tweaks his daughter's nose before he heads to the coffee pot to pour another cup. "Lord, save us from fools and hopeless romantics," he says.

"Will you listen to him?" Jeannie points back to her husband. "He didn’t even know Jared was gay until I told him last year. He was fit to be tied when I filled him in on you two's relationship after the auction."

Chris looks affronted. "Excuse me if my mind doesn’t automatically go to the gay place."

If Jensen was in a different mindset, he might be amused; as it is, he barely takes notice. Instead, he watches Jeannie like he can pull Jared’s location straight from her brain if he just stares hard enough.

She lets him stew for a minute before reaching over to pat his hand. "He's working at a dude ranch about an hour out of Dallas."

"I think they prefer 'guest ranch,'" Chris calls over.

"It's a dude ranch," Jeannie says. "And I've gotta say, the only person I've ever met more stupid than you is Jared fucking Padalecki. Pardon my French."

"He's right outside of Dallas and he didn't call me?"

"Don't get riled, Jensen. He said he sent you a postcard weeks ago and didn't hear back." She shifts the now sleeping Gemma on her lap and exhales a long, heavy breath that ruffles her bangs, a habit so reminiscent of Jared, Jensen has to close his eyes against the sense-memory. "I don't pretend to understand, but he decided to come back anyway. He's been there a couple of weeks, just too chicken-shit to call you, I guess."

"Jesus." Jensen doesn’t know what else to say.

"You should have told him before he left if you wanted him to stay."

"I didn't know," Jensen admits. "I didn’t even think of it as an option, I guess."

"Well, now you know. And assuming one of you can get your head out of your ass long enough to make a move, which is a big assumption, you can do something about it."

Chris returns to the table. "Consider his head surgically removed and give him Jared's address, woman."

"Fine," Jeannie says, handing the baby to her daddy and heading to the counter for her address book. "But let the record show, I wanted to make you sweat it out a little longer. It's Christian who went soft."

________

On his way to the Amarillo airport, and while he waits two and a half hours for the next available flight, and during the short time he's in the air, then on the tarmac back in Dallas, Jensen counts down the hours and minutes between him and The Wildlands Guest Ranch that sits forty-five miles north of Dallas-Fort Worth. And on the drive from the airport to the ranch, he wonders what the hell he's going to say when he gets there.

Jensen knows he's persuasive; he'll figure something out. Jeannie's all but assured him Jared wants to be with him, too. But, goddamn it, Jared's been so close for two weeks and not even a call. That’s some Junior High bullshit.

It's been nearly a year since they met, over four months since they parted, and things have changed so much since that Jensen can't be sure what he’ll find. Still, he's more anxious to see Jared than worried over the outcome. If he can just talk to him, touch him, look into those eyes one more time, it will have been worth it – every stupid moment they've been apart and the months it took him to figure out they should be together.

The sun has started to set at his left when Jensen sees the first sign for The Wildlands. It’s the picture perfect Texas dude ranch. Jensen pulled up their website while he waited in the airport, so he knows that it sits on a thousand acres of rolling hills with a river flowing through that's ideal for fishing and kayaking. According to Jeannie, Jared works at the stables and guides guests along the ranch’s trails on horseback. Jensen thinks it suits him better than working the door at a club in New York or serving drinks at Chippendales in Las Vegas.

The girl at the front desk seems utterly disinterested when Jensen asks where he might find Jared Padalecki; she doesn’t so much as spare a glance from her computer screen when she points him to the stables. Jensen heads to the outdoor walkway that's going to lead him to Jared and tries to steady his nerves.

He has to stop in his tracks to catch his breath when he rounds the side of the building and sees Jared out by the paddock. He's alone, save one old spotted mare lazily circling the enclosure. Jensen straightens his spine, determination setting his stride, and walks over. He doesn't make himself known until he's only a few feet away.

"Jared."

It takes so long for a response, Jensen almost repeats himself, but then Jared dips his head, squares his shoulders, and turns toward him. Jensen can't stifle the grin he feels spread across his face. There's a beat, barely a second, and Jared moves forward to grab him in a tight hug that lifts Jensen a good inch off the ground.

"How'd you know I was here?" The words are mumbled into his shoulder and Jensen has to disengage himself by degrees to answer or lose his breath altogether under Jared's assault.

"Jeannie," he says. "Should have come from you."

Jared lets go and backs off a step, looks over toward the guest house, and nods. "Yeah, I was gonna call. I was working up the nerve, I guess."

"I know a little something about that."

Jensen lets his gaze slide over Jared; there's a lot to take in. He looks good, tan and healthy, same old Jared, ridiculous hair and eyes lit up from somewhere deep inside. He wants to pull him in again and just inhale.

Jared shuffles his feet and runs his fingers through his hair, all high strung nerves like the first time they met. "Let's go for a walk," he says.

Jensen nods his agreement and follows down a short, well-trodden path that leads to a bluff overlooking miles of rolling hills. The land is greener here than it is back home, gentler in a way than what he's used to.

They stop at a quiet, isolated spot, all muted shadows in the soft purple of dusk. Jared stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at Jensen. "So, here we are."

"Here we are," Jensen agrees.

"Listen, I'm sor–"

Jensen doesn't want to hear it, so he cuts Jared off with a kiss, rushes him and puts his arms around him, and presses their mouths together like he's been wanting to for weeks. Jared gets with the program immediately, opens his mouth to Jensen's, bending into it and holding on. It's Jensen who finally breaks contact, pulling back to bring his hand up between them, settling it over Jared's chest.

"Guess that still works." Jensen exhales the words on a stuttered laugh.

"Was there a doubt?"

"I guess I wasn't sure you'd be into it."

Jared scrubs a hand over his face. "Is this the part where we talk?"

"I'm afraid so," Jensen says. "But, with your cooperation, I hope to get to the fun part right after."

Taking Jensen’s wrist in a loose grip, Jared leads them farther down the path, through a small copse of trees to a wood railing obviously built for hikers to lean against while they enjoy the view. Old horses sent to pasture dot the fields below. A cool breeze picks up, but Jensen's too intent on what he needs to say to register the chill.

"I got your postcard."

"Yeah?" Jared looks at his feet.

"It took a few weeks to make it to me. I spent a while after that convincing myself it didn't mean anything. Hell, I'm still not sure it did."

"It did. It does."

Jensen leans against the railing and shakes his head. "You know, as much as I hate to admit it, Jeannie probably has a point about us."

"Don't tell her that." There’s something akin to horror in Jared's voice. "We'll never live it down."

"Why didn't you call me when you first got here?" Jensen’s so ready to move forward, he’s not sure how much he really cares about the answer. It’s mostly idle curiosity at this point, but Jared takes it at face value.

"I wasn't sure if I should. I don't know." The smile he throws Jensen doesn't reach his eyes, and when he finally speaks, Jared’s voice is smaller than it ever should be, almost confessional. "You have this amazing life. You're educated and successful. And I’m…"

Jensen opens his mouth to interrupt but Jared stops him with a look. "I'm an ex-junkie with a record who can't keep a job, or stay put, for longer than six months."

"Jared, that's not how I see you at all."

"I know you didn't, not when we were together. But that was...hell, I don’t even know what that was. It was almost too perfect."

Jensen nods and lets Jared continue without further interruption. "I thought maybe you'd see me differently with some distance," Jared says. "See me for what I am."

"I do. You're amazing. You have this, I don’t know, this gift for life. Maybe you are as messed up as you think, but nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do."

"Well, when you put it like that." But Jared doesn’t sound convinced.

"My past would send anybody with a lick of sense running in the other direction," Jensen reminds him. "I can't promise I won't fuck up again. I'm still the same man who cheated…"

"Stop," Jared interrupts. "You've got a clean slate with me. I mean, I'll keep an eye out, I’m not an idiot, but the slate is clean."

Jensen can't stand not to touch anymore, so he pulls Jared close. They hang on each other, and he makes it a point to take it in, really feel it, as he winds one arm around Jared’s back and lets his other hand rest at his hip, while Jared surrounds him, his size and heat a blanket pulled tight.

"I missed you," Jensen says. "So much."

He presses his cheek against Jared’s and feels a sharp stab of fear, a knife-twist that may never go away. What if he doesn't have it in him to stay true? He doesn’t know how he’ll go on if he fucks this up with Jared the way he did with Paul.

"I missed you, too."

Jensen leans back to look Jared in the eye; they press their foreheads together and hold like that for a while before Jensen opens his mouth and goes all in.

"I love you." He presses a kiss to Jared’s lips, quick and soft. "Please come back to me."

Jared’s eyes are wide as the first hint of a grin curls his lips. "Who are you and what have you done with Jensen Ackles?"

"Shut up. I'm trying to have a moment."

Jared pulls back and loosens his hold to run his big hands down Jensen’s back. "I love you, too. In case there was any doubt."

Jensen shakes his head like there wasn't but he's sure he must be grinning like a fool. He doesn’t immediately notice the concerned line that furrows Jared’s brow.

"I’m pretty scared of fucking this up," Jared says. "I can't promise I won't wake up in two months with an urge to take off."

This, Jensen’s prepared for. He knows Jared well enough that he’s considered it many times over, and he knows what he wants to say. So, he raises his hands to cradle Jared’s face between them and he stares at him hard, trying to express everything he feels through his eyes alone.

"Just come home with me. I promise to try if you do. And if you wake up two months from now, or six months from now, or, hell, three years from now, and you want to go, Jared." Jensen presses another kiss, smiles big and true. "We'll go."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN_J2_BigBang 2011. Thank you forever to my _adorable_ beta, greybhan311, for the encouragement, the hand-holding, and the fantastic grammar wrangling. She is an amazing godmother to this baby. Any remaining mistakes are purely my own.


End file.
